


Time & Patience

by EllieL



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Apprentice Hermione Granger, Arithmancy (Harry Potter), Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Headmaster Severus Snape, Hogwarts, Potions, Severus Snape Lives, Slow Burn, Sword of Gryffindor, Time Travel Fix-It, Time Turner (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28964694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieL/pseuds/EllieL
Summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione takes Minerva McGonagall with her to retrieve the body of Severus Snape. What they find sends her on a mission back in time, though not the way she intended.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 229
Kudos: 336
Collections: Hearts and Cauldrons Discord Members





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta thanks to Ralina!   
> I feel like this is going to be longer than the 15 my outline says it is, because I’ve already added an extra chapter and I’m only six in. So we’ll see where this goes, other than on a very slow burn.

After they withdrew from Snape’s memories, Hermione remained beside the pensive for a few seconds while Harry charged out the door, already set on his mission. She shook her head, looking down at the pensieve. Before following him, she walked over to the Headmaster’s desk--still looking much as it had under Dumbledore--and opened the drawers carefully. She’d watched him pull something for her out of here, what felt like a lifetime ago. It took a little rummaging, through all sorts of magical detritus and devices she wished she had more time to examine, before she found what she was looking for. 

Carefully, she looped the chain of the time turner around her neck, tucking the delicate device into her shirt. Then she followed Harry out the door, racing down the stairs to catch up with him.

  
  
  


Only after the battle was over and the wounded and killed were being accounted for did her thoughts return to Snape. While Harry and the Weasleys were clustered over Fred, she quietly caught Minerva McGonagall’s arm.

“Miss Granger?” The older witch stilled, looking down at her with concern.

“We need to retrieve Pro--Headmaster Snape. He’s in the Shrieking Shack.”

McGonagall looked across the tired, broken clusters of witches and wizards filling the Great Hall, mourning their loses rather than celebrating their victory, and nodded. “Aye, we do. I shall accompany you. I owe him that at least, after all.” She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes but not falling as she squared her shoulders and guided Hermione towards the doors.

No one asked where they were going, though everyone seemed to defer to McGonagall as the Headmistress of Hogwarts now. The grounds were now eerily still, everyone having moved into the castle to tend to the aftermath. They wended their way through debris and rubble, before finding the path down to the Shrieking Shack. It seemed to take an eternity, and Hermione could feel her heart racing and slowing as they walked, her breathing sometimes coming quick as well, before she’d force herself to slow and focus. Beside her, McGonagall was silent, looking lost in too many deep thoughts. 

Hermione led the way into the shack, illuminating the tip of her wand to guide their way. Both witches froze at the sounds in the house, like movement on the old floorboards. Eyes wide, they looked at one another, then proceeded with further caution. The younger witch’s eyes widened still more when she found Headmaster Snape, not dead in a pool of his own blood as she’d left him, but resting on a faded blanket, a bandage on his neck, a few feet from the darkening splash of blood on the floor. 

McGonagall was already casting diagnostics as Hermione dropped to her knees to assess his condition in a much more muggle manner. Pulse was thready and breathing was labored and he was paler than she’d ever seen him. He seemed to be unconscious. But as her fingers left the pulse at his wrist, he suddenly grabbed her hand in his own and reached clumsily to pat the top of her chest. For a moment she could only focus on the bloody handprint left behind, then she realized what their hands rested atop, and she smiled and squeezed his hand. 

“Understood, sir. Now let’s get you back to the castle.” When she looked back over her shoulder at McGonagall, the witch was already casting her Patronus. The silver tabby darted off, while Hermione turned back to the injured headmaster. He was still holding her hand lightly, relief etched on his face, staring up at her. Without thinking, she gave his hand another squeeze and soothed her other hand through his fine hair, matted with sweat and blood, casting a cleansing charm on it. She could feel him take a slow, shuddering breath and relax ever so slightly.

Then she began digging in her bag, which had been momentarily forgotten. He’d obviously already been helped, but she knew there was more that could be done to stabilize him before moving him to the castle. And she wished there was an easier way to get him to the infirmary; apparition was impossible, of course, and if the shack had ever been connected to the floo, the network was long disconnected. Everything she’d learned in Girl Guides and subsequent reading about muggle emergency medicine told her moving someone with an obvious neck injury was a terrible idea, but they didn’t have any option but to levitate him out of here.

“I’ve warned Poppy we’re coming. Let’s get him back to the castle, lass.” McGonagall hovered over her shoulder, peering down at the barely-conscious Snape.

“Right. Let me just give him this,” she said, pulling two vials from the depths of her bag. Easing a hand onto his jaw was enough to startle both his mouth and his eyes wide open, and she quickly dosed him with blood replenisher and a basic pain potion. Thankful eyes met hers for a moment before closing, and she withdrew, rising next to McGonagall. “Locomotor?”

The older witch nodded. “It will have to do. Two of us will make it more stable for him, but it’s a long way to the infirmary.”

It had been a magically draining and physically exhausting day for both of them, and Hermione dug into her bag once more to offer a bit of chocolate to the other woman. She accepted it, then the two of them stood to either side of Snape and cast on McGonagall’s count of three. He was surprisingly easy to lift, and put up no resistance to their efforts. As he floated, Hermione stepped forward to tuck his arms across his torso. Then they began the delicate process of guiding him back to Hogwarts.

They were met with not a few stares as they made their way back through the castle, but a few more helpful wands joined in aiding them up to the infirmary. Poppy was at the door as soon as they were through it, directing them to a bed at the far end of the room and casting diagnostic spells as they went.

“You administered antivenom?” The mediwitch looked to McGonagall.

“I didn’t...Hermione?”

“When we got there he’d…” she trailed off, unsure how to explain what she knew had happened. What she must make happen. “If he did, he took it himself. I gave him blood replenisher and a pain potion before we moved him.”

With a sharp nod, Madam Pomfrey got to work, leaving McGonagall and Hermione to step back and watch, keeping out of her way. The bloody bandages were removed from his neck and more diagnostics were cast. Blood was siphoned away, and charms targeted the area for healing in between topical applications of a potion summoned from a distant cabinet. There was a bit of smoke when the potion was applied, and Snape hissed and shifted away, until the mediwitch cast a spell to still him.

“It’s your own potion, Severus,” the woman said, sparing a moment to pat his shoulder. The wound fizzled a bit, but then began to close under her renewed charmwork. 

Hermione watched in awe, before turning to McGonagall. “I need to speak with you later.”

The Scottish witch gave her a long look and a slight nod. “Aye, I thought you might. I’ll send for you later.”

  
  
  


It was much later until she found herself with McGonagall again. The sun was rising over the horizon and it felt as if days had passed since she’d last slept. Headmaster Snape was stable but still unconscious. Hermione had sat by his bedside for a while after Madam Pomfrey had moved on to other patients, leaving the young woman to monitor the headmaster. When she’d been summoned by McGonagall’s feline Patronus, she’d drifted off a bit, much to her mortification. 

As she sat down with McGonagall, she gladly accepted the offered cup of tea, hoping it would wake her up a bit and clear her head. 

“You did more to help him than just blood replenished and bringing me to the Shrieking Shack,” said McGonagall, with no preamble. They were too tired for preamble.

“I believe so.”

McGonagall raised an eyebrow and tilted the teacup towards her, urging elaboration, before taking another sip.

“You recall I had a Time Turner in my third year.” At the older witch’s nod, she continued, “After Harry and I viewed Headmaster Snape’s memories in the pensive, I removed one from the Headmaster’s desk.”

“I see. And what do you plan to do with it?” There was an archness in her tone, not quite approving.

“I’ve already done it. I need to go back and help treat Headmaster Snape.”

“Not far then.”

“No,” she shook her head and cast a tempus. “Eight hours should do.”

Minerva nodded. “You’ll need to go somewhere safe from the battle.”

“Somewhere inside the castle, I think. The Shack itself is too dangerous, I don’t know how long Voldemort was there before…” she broke off with a shudder. 

“Eight hours would take you back after curfew. The Carrows would be on patrol.”

“It can’t be the Room of Requirement, since the DA is hiding there. Would the library be safe?”

Frowning, Minerva shook her head. “It became a safe haven for students at the start of the year, because Irma is such a dragon with her books. But they soon realized it and began waiting for students leaving, or lingering.”

“Hmm.” She fiddled with the chain of the time turner as she thought. Both women were quiet a moment, Hermione biting her lip before venturing, “The Headmaster’s Office.”

“That’s not—“ began Minerva, brows raised.

“We know now he’s always been on our side. I need to encounter him anyway. Though I cannot imagine him taking my sudden appearance well, I know he’ll keep me safe.”

“Not the main office. He had a daily afternoon meeting with the Carrows. I thought they were—well, I was wrong about what he was doing there. But you can’t be there. Go to the Headmaster’s Library, if it will admit you.”

“His library?”

“Come, Hermione.” Minerva stood and hardly paused to see if she was following before heading to the Headmaster’s Office. 

The stairs admitted them to a room that had already been rifled through, after Harry and Kingsley had viewed the pensieve together. The women ignored the disarray and made a beeline for a door Hermione, who’d only been in the room a few times, had never noticed. Minerva stopped in front of it, hand hovering over the latch, then waved at Hermione.

“If you’ve done this, lass, you’ll have already made sure you can.” With a decided nod, she stepped back.

Hermione reached for the door with only a second’s hesitation. Headmaster Snape would surely have strongly warded his rooms, but if she’d already gone back and saved him, Professor McGonagall would be correct, and she would have made it easier for herself to go back to do so. Third year had given her enough practice with the time turner to lay those paths out for herself. 

At her touch, the wards released and the door allowed her to open it wide, admitting them both to a room that showed no trace of the chaos that had engulfed the rest of Hogwarts. A fire crackled in the grate, flanked by two emerald green leather armchairs worn soft and contoured from hours of occupation. There were no windows, only the fireplace, the door they’d come through matched by one on the far wall, and towering cases of books. A spindly-legged desk sat to the side of one of the chairs, with a few quills and a pot of ink. Hermione looked around in wonder.

“These are all Headmaster Snape’s?”

“No,” answered McGonagall, drawing the younger woman’s attention. “This is the collection of the Headmaster. They remain here, for the use of whoever occupies that role.”

“Well, I can hardly see the Carrows being welcomed in here. It should suit my needs well enough.”

“I’ll leave you to it then. I’ll see you back in my office then?”

“Yes.” That would be perfect, and easily achieved. She would be right back where people knew she’d gone, so she would arouse no suspicions.

When Professor McGonagall closed the door behind her, Hermione was left in peace and quiet for the first time in months. She sank down into the less worn of the chairs and took a deep, cleansing breath. One more task; she could do this, she already had. Just a few more hours and she could rest.

Drawing the time turner from under her jumper, she studied it in the glowing firelight. This was not the same one she’d used in her third year; the rings were variegated silver and gold, and had different graduations on them. She examined it for several minutes before beginning to adjust the rings, watching the sand inside shift as she did so. 

She took another deep breath, made sure the necklace was securely around her neck and set the final dial. The room began to shift around her, the fire crackling in and out, ghostly figures flitting in and out of the room, far too much activity for a restricted room in an eight hour stretch. Worry gnawed at her gut as the turn took longer than any she’d previously experienced, the time turner glowing red-hot in her hand as the room finally settled around her. It looked much as it had when she’d set time rolling back around her, though the fire in the grate was now much larger, driving any chill out of the room.

She had a bad feeling that she’d turned back much more than her intended eight hours. As she was looking around the room, trying to glean any clue to what she’d done, the far door, opposite the one she’d come through, opened.   


Headmaster Severus Snape stood silhouetted in the open doorway.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normally I'm very regular, once-weekly updater, but I might try to be a bit more frequent with this one so long as the writing keeps going well. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Slamming the door behind him and throwing up a complex series of wards over what were surely already elaborate ones, Headmaster Snape stormed across the room in a billow of black robes, a menacing snarl on his face. When he thundered to a stop in front of her, he towered over her seated form, glowering down at her.

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing here, Miss Granger?”

She had to stop herself from physically recoiling from the harsh tone and look on his face. Instead, she held up the still glowing-hot time turner without saying a word. 

He raised a brow, scowl fading into a frighteningly neutral face; his voice, though, was still dangerous. “Why have you come back here, Miss Granger?”

“Well,” she swallowed, looking up the man she had come back to save. “Before I explain, may I ask the date?”

“You are the one with the time turner in your possession. Do you mean to tell me you turned back without knowing what you were doing?” His voice was almost a growl.

She shook her head. “This one isn’t like the one I had before.” Ignoring the look of surprise that flitted across his face, she continued, “The plan was to turn back eight hours. I believe I’ve done significantly more than that.”

“Today is November second. It is just past three in the afternoon. As it is now my tea time, you have the ten minutes it takes me to drink a cup in which to provide a further explanation of your presence in my private study.”

“November!” Her gaze took in the room again, and returned to him just as he was summoning a tea tray from the Headmaster’s Office, and settling it on the little table. He appeared nonplussed as he rewarded the door to the office, then sat down in the well-worn chair opposite her and poured two cups.

“How do you take yours?”

She blinked at him, and managed, “Just a splash of milk, please, sir.”

He sent the cup floating over to her as he added two teaspoons of sugar and a dash of milk to his own cup. Only after taking a sip did he turn his dark gaze to her. “You’ve never had a problem with loquaciousness before, Miss Granger. Explain. Now.”

She took a sip of tea, stalling to gather her thoughts. “Events occurred at the beginning of May, which led me to realize I had turned back to do something specific. I did so, in this room, which the castle admitted me to, further indicating that I’d already turned back and had access to this room.”

“Bloody time turners,” he muttered under his breath. “How did you acquire the device with which to do this? They were all destroyed at the Ministry.”

She shrugged. “It was in the Headmaster’s—that is, your desk. Sir.”

“What made you think that I would not simply kill you on sight? Or, that I’m not poisoning you now, or planning to take you to the Dark Lord as soon as I finish my Darjeeling?”

She met his eye then, confident in this one thing if nothing else. “Your true character was revealed by the same events that led me to finding the time turner.”

“How were you—no, I know.” He waved a hand at her, obviously realizing that she was being circumspect by necessity. “Things have worked out in favor of the light, then.”

It wasn’t a question, exactly, but she nodded, then took another sip of her tea.

“I need to keep the children safe until May.” It was almost as if he was speaking to himself, as she stared down at his cup.

“You do.” 

He met her eyes again then, as if trying to read her very soul. What he was trying to do was read her mind, she realized quickly, but withdrew immediately when she realized what was happening.

“Keep your secrets, Miss Granger. Though you will need to guard them better if you are to remain here. Is that the case?”

Opening her mouth to respond, she then closed it, realizing that she was thrown so far off plan she had no idea when she should do. “The intention had been to do so, sir. But circumstances are greatly altered. I spun back expecting to set to work in minutes, not months. If I may, this does seem the safest place, at least at the moment.”

“This is hardly a safe place for anyone right now.”

“At least I’ve got tea and a fire here, which is more than I had at this point in time, before.”

He looked at her for a long, hard moment, then put his cup back down on the tray. “There is no way to get you safely out of here at the moment, anyway. You will have to remain until after curfew at least, or whenever the Carrows have slunk off to bed.”

She shuddered but nodded. “I need to think through a plan of action before making any moves.”

“Very well.” He rose and inclined his head at her, at once both more imposing and far less frightening than when he’d been her Professor. “We can discuss this when I return after dinner. I will have one of the elves bring something up for you. Do not leave this room.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He disappeared in another billow of robes and slam of the door, this time disappearing with the tea tray into the Headmaster’s Office. She could feel the wards going up on the other side of the door, feel the silence of a Muffliato descend around her. Now she would have several hours to think and rest. Maybe, she thought, she should do that first, exhausted and worn as she was; this place was safer and more comfortable than anywhere she had been in months. A little transfiguration work left her settling on to the couch with a blanket over her, setting herself a two-hour timer.

When she woke, she felt able to think a bit more clearly. The first step would be to map out her and the boys’ movements throughout the eight months she’d turned back, and figure out what else had been going on at that point. Perhaps she could aid them, or aid the war effort in some way. But she knew so little of what else had been happening, due to their isolation while they were on the run. Searching the desk turned up a quill, ink, and paper; she began making a timeline of events, to the best of her recollection, including things they’d heard through Potterwatch and what she knew had gone on in the world at large. 

It took longer than she’d expected, and she was staring down at the litany of what they’d all been through in the last few months and trying not to weep, when there was a gentle rapping at the door. Her eyes were wide and wet when she looked up, to see Headmaster Snape walking into the room, followed by a house-elf carrying a tray.

The elf’s already wide-eyes bugged for a second, before hastily delivering her the dinner tray and turning back to the Headmaster. 

“I am relying on your vows to the school and the Headmaster, Tilly.”

“Of course, sir.” The elf bowed low, before disapparating with a quiet pop.

He looked at where she sat at his desk, then repositioned one of the chairs so that he could sit across from her, folding his hands into his lap and crossing his legs. He looked stern, severe even, dark circles under his eyes and lines she didn’t remember etching his face. But his tone was gentle as he asked, “Have you a plan, Miss Granger?”

She looked down at the paper in front of her and folded it in half before slipping it into her pocket. “Not quite. As you know, Harry, Ron and I were-- _are_ on the run. So I was rather disconnected from what was happening to the world at large. Obviously, no one else can know I’m here.”

“Obviously.” All it took was a raised brow to urge her to continue. 

“Given how difficult it was to find safe harbor when we were on the run, if it is feasible, it seems that the safest place to remain would be here in the castle. I cannot use the Room of Requirement, unfortunately--” she pulled herself up short, and looked down at the dinner plate, poking at the peas.

“I know precisely what the Room of Requirement is being used for, Miss Granger. They would not have lasted long if I did not. Your Gryffindor friends are brave, but wholly lacking in subtlety.”

She quashed a huff of laughter at the idea of Neville and Ginny being subtle about anything and instead took a bite of chicken. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself a minute to savor it; when she opened them, the Headmaster was looking at her sadly.

“It will be a difficult year for all, I take it.”

“We will be in hiding for most of it, as we’re working to—” She stopped herself again, then weighed her options. “Do you know what task Headmaster Dumbledore set out for Harry?”

He shook his head. “I do not. Dumbledore believed that it was too dangerous for anyone other than himself to know everything that was in motion. It would not surprise me that it was more difficult and more dangerous than befits a task for minors.”

“I turned eighteen in September. But yes, far more than Harry should have been tasked with, given that even Dumbledore couldn’t accomplish it.” 

“And Mr. Potter did not accomplish it without paying with his life, or you would not be here.”

“No, he survived and was hugging Ginny Weasley the last time I saw him,” she added unnecessarily, just to see the sour look cross his face. But she couldn’t help but ask, “Did you know he had to die?”

The fleeting look of surprise on Snape’s face couldn’t be anything but genuine, but it was quickly back to something almost neutral, though she thought there was something softer now. “I did not. My charge from Dumbledore had been protecting him at all costs.”

After a moment of eying her up an down, he added, “But it does not surprise me, given the prophecy.” 

She hesitated only a second before nodding. “Right. I’m not not sure precisely what happened but--but Harry lives.”

“Good.” There was pleasure in the word, almost relief on his face, some of the lines seeming to disappear. In that moment, she could see another man underneath the dour, frightening face he presented to the world and was certain she’d made the right choice in coming back to save him. 

“Yes.” She smiled at him, and finally managed another bite of the dinner he’d had delivered for her.

“You have formulated a plan to accomplish whatever it is you set out to do, then.”

Her face fell. “No. All I’ve figured out is a timeline of what happens between now and when I turned back. I can’t interfere in any of it, until the event I know I came back to affect. What to do in the meantime...I have no idea. That’s months away, and I know I can’t go wandering around Britain.”

Snape sighed, and looked around the study. “For the time being, remaining here would be the safest option for you. No one but myself and a select few house-elves can enter this space, as it is part of the Headmaster’s private quarters. 

Hermione looked around the study, at the books and couch and fire. It was certainly an improvement over where she had spent most of the last year. “If it is not too much trouble, sir, at least for tonight. I could use a good night’s rest.”

“I can see that, Miss Granger. Come, I think the castle will be willing to accommodate you on that front.” His voice was gentler than she’d ever heard it, and he reached out a hand towards her, though he didn’t quite touch her--it hovered over her shoulder as he guided her to the door she’d assumed led to his rooms. They stopped in front of it and he reached forward and placed his hand flat on the door, whispering in a tongue that Hermione didn’t recognize. It was unusual to hear spellwork that wasn’t based in Latin or Greek--this had a different sound all together and she listened raptly, studying the intense focus on the Headmaster’s face as he incanted.

When he finished the spellwork, his hand lingered on the door for a long moment, before he dropped it and gestured to her. “Place your hand flat on the door, Miss Granger.”

She did so and felt a thrum of powerful magic reverberate through her. It felt almost like the wards she set on their campsites, but this was far more powerful, and it seemed to accept her magic into itself. Glancing up at the Headmaster after the wave of magic had passed, she asked, “What was that?”

“Hogwarts.” At her expression of surprise, he continued, “The Headmaster’s wards are very old, and very powerful.”

“What was that spellwork? It wasn’t Latin.”

“No, it was not. Much of the foundational spells of the Hogwarts wards are, of course, standard Latin, but those protecting the Headmaster’s offices and quarters are in Old English.”

“Oh. That wasn’t mentioned in ‘Hogwarts--‘”

“No, nor shall it ever be. Hogwarts guards her secrets, Miss Granger, for which you should be quite thankful. Now open the door.”

The dark wood door swung open at the lightest touch of the knob, revealing not a bedroom as she’d expected, but a vestibule with a tapestry of a unicorn grazing in a meadow of flowers separating two more doors. The unicorn raised its head and studied them, then looked to the door on the left. 

“That will be the entrance to your room. Only you, Tilly, and myself will have access to it. Should you need anything, call for her. You will not have further access to my quarters.” He didn’t await her response, merely opened the door on the right into a dark room and closed it firmly behind him. No further sounds emanated from within.

After staring at her door for a minute, she opened it. The room that the castle had apparently created for her was not so different than the Gryffindor dormitory, though in this case it had only one bed, hung in a rich plummy purple, and a small fireplace to one side. A doorway led into a bath that was nowhere near as luxurious as the prefect’s bath, but was enough to send her turning taps and shedding clothes before exploring the chambers any further. 

It had been so long since she’d been able to relax and enjoy a bath, and she sank into the steaming, lavender-scented water with a sigh. The weight of the year wouldn’t float away so easily, but this helped her relax and ease her tired body. Tonight she would rest in the safety of Hogwarts and tomorrow morning she would begin to formulate a plan for the next eight months. She knew what the endgame was, she just needed to figure out how to get them there without changing anything.


	3. Chapter 3

It felt unusual to be waking in a bed after all this time, especially a Hogwarts four-poster. There was only one window, sending a broad beam of early morning sunlight across the counterpane; that meant it was still early enough that she did not feel slothful taking a few moments to luxuriate in the soft, warm bedding. Her head felt clearer, though she could feel the lingering aches and pains in her body from the battle two days prior--or eight months hence, she wasn’t sure how to think of it.

And that was her problem; she needed to decide how to think of it, and how to get herself and Headmaster Snape safely through until then. The castle had made room for her, would explain how she’d had access to the study in the future. It also made sense that Hogwarts would be the safest place to remain, especially given that she needed to end up here. Going to Grimmauld Place might have been an option, but getting there safely would be problematic, as would getting back here at the right moment to save the Headmaster.

Eventually, she tossed back the blankets and climbed out of bed. A cleaning spell put her clothes to right, but as she dressed, she realized that wherever she went, she would need new clothes. A year on the run had not been kind to these, and she would need to be wearing them when she caught back up to herself. Looking around the room, she hesitated only a moment before calling, “Tilly?”

The house-elf appeared immediately. “Missy Granger has called?”

“Might I have breakfast?”

“Of course, Miss. In the Headmaster’s Study?”

“If that is permitted.”

The elf nodded and was gone with a pop. By the time she stepped into the study, Tilly was already waiting there again with tea, toast, and yogurt. Tilly bowed as if to disappear, but froze when Hermione addressed her again.

“Tilly, is there any way to get me some more clothes? Something I could transfigure?”

“Of course, Tilly will find something in the place of lost things.”

By the time she’d finished her breakfast, the elf had returned with an old dress that was at least a decade out of fashion--she recalled her mother having something equally floral and hideous as a child--and a pair of denims at least three sizes too large for her current frame, along with an old grey sweater and a few shirts of varying sizes and colors.

“Tilly brought everything she could find, miss.”

“Thank you, Tilly. You’ve been very helpful.”

She occupied herself for a while, transfiguring the clothes into things she could actually wear, including a few of the shirts into underclothes and the dress into a simple, solid blue. Then she looked around the room for something else to occupy her. It was too early for lunch--not that she’d eaten lunch in months, anyway--and she had no desire to bother the elves again. What she needed to do was speak with Headmaster Snape, and discuss the possibility of her staying on at Hogwarts. She could use her time here to study healing, in order to aid him when the time came. And she could begin to formulate a plan for what to do after the battle was over; society would need to be rebuilt, into one that was hopefully much more welcoming and equitable for all. Surely eight months would afford her plenty of time to have such a plan at the ready, and give her a path forward in the world, too.

Healing first, she thought, and turned towards the massive shelves covering the walls, scanning the titles. Some were potions texts, often rare or restricted ones; she noted several on venoms and poisons that she wanted to take a closer look at later. There was a shelf of dark texts, much more dangerous than those in the restricted section and warded so well that she couldn’t even get close enough to see the titles, though she could feel the ominous magic roiling off the shelf. There were advanced transfiguration volumes that drew her eye, too, and books on charms and magical creatures and history that her fingers itched to touch. But she kept her resolve and found the shelf of books on healing, selecting  _ Advanced Healing Magicks _ to start. She settled into a chair and lost herself in the book, not noticing the change in the light in the room, or the fireplace springing to life. No sound intruded from the Headmaster’s Office, and so she read on, uninterrupted.

Only when the door to the office swung open, admitting the Headmaster, did she look up from the nearly-finished book. He strode across the room to stop in front of the chair she’d ensconced herself in, glowering down at her.

“You are still here, Miss Granger.”

Her brow furrowed. “That’s actually what I wanted to speak with you about.”

“Oh?” One of his brows raised, and he stepped back, settling into a chair without ceasing to stare at her.

“For various reasons, I obviously cannot be seen. By anyone. Which makes even an Order safehouse, like Grimmauld, out of the question. And I need to know that I will be right back here on the first of May. The safest way to ensure all of that is to remain here at Hogwarts.”

“As I told you yesterday, Miss Granger, Hogwarts is hardly safe.”

“As long as I don’t leave these rooms, it is.”

He sighed, closing his eyes.

“I know it’s a lot to ask of you--”

“It is not beyond my means to give you sanctuary here. But you will be unable to leave these quarters if you choose to remain here. You cannot trot off to the library, or go saunter around the lake.” 

“If you don’t mind me reading your books, I’m quite content to stay here. I want to do some research on what I need to do when I reach the point that I’d spun back to change. And I want to do some research for what needs to happen after the war, for everyone.”

Something that might have been a smile passed over his face, though the thought of Severus Snape smiling was not exactly a sight she’d ever expected to see. “You are more than welcome to any of the books here. Even the dark ones, should you think they’ll be of help. Though ask for my assistance with the wards if you want to read those.” 

When her eyes went wide and strayed to the shelves, he continued, “And if you are optimistic enough to be thinking of after, I can provide you with the syllabi for your core curriculum, so that you might be prepared for you NEWTs in June, should they occur on time.”

The thought of her NEWTs hadn’t even crossed her mind; she’d given up hope of being ready for them when she chose to join Harry. “I hadn’t even thought of my NEWTs,” she admitted, looking down at the book in her hands. “You really think I could be ready?”

“If anyone could be, it would be you. Certainly, I can provide you the work for Arithmancy, Charms, History, Transfiguration, and the texts though not the practical portion of Potions.”

“That would be marvelous, sir.”

“Very well then. You shall remain here, in these rooms, and work on your studies and your research. I will let Tilly know to serve your meals in here.” He nodded with a finality and summoned a book of his own.

They sat in companionable quiet for half an hour, until Tilly appeared.

“Missy has not had anything for lunch or dinner. Would she be wishing Tilly to bring some food?”

She looked up from the book, astonished; she was so used to not eating that she hadn’t missed the meals. “That would be lovely, Tilly. Just a sandwich, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all, miss.”

The headmaster watched all of this in silence, saying nothing until after the elf had returned less than a minute later with a turkey sandwich, then disappeared again. Hermione ate two slow bites before she noticed him watching her. She raised a brow in inquiry as she took another bite, savoring the herbed mayonnaise. 

“You haven’t eaten today, Miss Granger?” There was an odd tone to his voice she couldn’t quite place; from anyone else, she might have thought it concern.

“I had breakfast. I’m not—it’s been a while since three meals a day has even been an option for me.”

“Feel free to ask Tilly for whatever you’d like. I’ll ask her to deliver meals on the schedule of the Great Hall.”

“Thank you, sir.” She couldn’t think of anything more to say, simply ate her sandwich, then reshelved the book she’d been reading before heading to the room Hogwarts had created for her. Headmaster Snape seemed to take no notice of her as she went, but nodded in acknowledgement of her “Goodnight.”

  
  


The next day passed in much the same way for Hermione. The study was quiet and she was left to herself, other than Tilly bringing her breakfast—a much more substantial one than the day before, including a cheese omelette and cup of fresh fruit—and a tray at tea time. Sometime mid-afternoon, she’d moved on from  _ Advanced Healing Magicks _ and began reading through  _ Powerful Venoms and Poisons of Serpents _ which had rather more illustrations that she would have preferred, but a great deal of useful information.

She’d lost track of the time until the Headmaster returned to the study for the evening; with the lack of windows and the silencing wards on the room, it was as if she were in a bubble all of her own. Before sitting down, he placed a stack of books and a sheaf of papers on the table next to where she’d been sitting all day.

“That is an interesting choice of reading materials, Miss Granger. Are you missing Care of Magical Creatures?”

“What? Oh.” She slammed the book shut and tried not to look him in the eye. “I can’t—“

“It’s quite all right,” he said, turning to sit across from her and summoning a book of his own. “I brought your texts and syllabi from Arithmancy, Charms, History, and Transfiguration.”

She’d already sent the book on serpents back to the shelf and was eagerly scanning the Charms book and frowning as she looked between the information and the syllabus. “This is….”

“Inadequate? Quite.”

“Why? These are spells most of the class should already know. And hardly any practical class work?”

“This is the new, Ministry-approved curriculum.”

“Doesn’t the Headmaster set the curriculum? Headmaster Dumbledore—“

“Headmaster Dumbledore was the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and worked with a Ministry that was at least theoretically a force for societal good. I have neither of those luxuries.”

“But this is barely going to leave students prepared for everyday life, let alone the world they’re going to be walking into.”

The Headmaster sighed, head dropping and hair covering his face for a moment before looking up to meet her gaze. “I’m well aware of that, and of exactly what they’re going to be walking into.”

She looked down at the book in front of her. “I thought the new regime touted magical supremacy. This leaves them little more capable than muggles. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“You will find that supremacist ideology rarely makes much logical sense. In this case, they’re giving them just enough magical skills to feel superior to muggles but not enough to raise any resistance to them.”

“Oh. But…” she frowned and caught her lower lip between her teeth.

“‘Oh’ indeed. And my goal this year is not producing the most brilliant wizards and witches of our age. I just want them to all get through alive until May. Some of your compatriots are trying rather hard not to.”

That did bring a sad smile to her face. “Yes, but I can do as much about that as you can about the curriculum, since they can’t know I’m here. Though—if you could, what would you change?”

The question took her by surprise even more than him, and she had to refrain from clapping her hand over her mouth. But to her great shock, he seemed to be seriously considering it. Perhaps for the first time, if the expression in his face was anything to go by. 

“No one has bothered to ask me that. Nor have I given it much consideration, given how little choice I had in the matter.” He stared at her pile of books, then at all the bookshelves around the room. “I would keep much of the early core curriculum the same, but make Muggle Studies mandatory, along with a class for first-years on basics of writing and mathematics, since so many come in woefully unprepared. Most students don’t need much theory, since they’re never going to be creating spells, so a greater focus on practical work early on. Allow advanced students to do more theoretical work in areas they want to specialize in, even some independent student projects for Seventh Years. Perhaps a return of the Apprentice program.”

“Apprentice program?”

“When I was a student, professors with Masteries would sometimes take on qualified students to begin mastery work early, starting the latter half of their seventh year. Students like yourself would have been excellent candidates for such a program.”

“Oh,” she said again, surprised at the praise from a man she’d always thought looked down on her. “I could have begun working on my mastery a year early through an apprenticeship?”

“Presumably you will be ready to start your mastery work next year. In Charms?” He pointed at the book she’d picked up first, looking genuinely curious.

“Um.” She was flustered at the idea of such a conversation with someone who’d always seemed so discouraging of her ambitions. “I’m actually quite fond of Arithmancy.”

“An under-appreciated field.” 

“Do you think...after this is all over, that Professor Vector would be interested in offering an apprenticeship? There aren’t very many arithmancers in Britain.”

“She is quite fond of you and I’m sure she would be delighted to take you on, if whoever is in charge of Hogwarts after me allows it.”

She tilted her head and studied him. “Why wouldn’t you still be in charge?”

“I was appointed to run the school by the Dark Lord, Miss Granger. Do you think I will be allowed to remain when this is all over? I will be lucky to finish the school year with my life, let alone whatever punishment would be meted out for the demise of Headmaster Dumbledore.”

“I didn’t think about that.” And she hadn’t, failing to take the legal fallout of his tenure as headmaster into account when she’d spun back in time. But surely, surely with the memories he’d provided to Harry, and testimony—testimony that she could now give first-hand—he would be acquitted and seen for the hero he was. “I’ll have been here nearly all year now, though. I’ll be able to testify. And before I turned back, you—“

He gave her a hard look, but she stopped herself before saying more than she should. “I would prefer my life be ended than be spent in Azkaban.”

“We won’t let that happen to you, sir.”

“We?” His gaze seemed to cut right through her, but she met it.

“Harry and myself. Our words will carry weight, I know they will. You won’t end up in Azkaban.”

For a long time after that, he was quiet, not quite looking at her, before reaching for a book. “It is late, Miss Granger. Go to bed.”

She was poised to argue, to point out that she had no actual classes to attend and that he’d just brought her a pile of schoolwork to dive into. But looking at the slouch of his shoulders and lines around his eyes, she neatly stacked them on one corner of the desk, before thinking better of leaving them out anywhere, even in here, and gathered them up. “Goodnight, sir.”

He hardly seemed to acknowledge her, instead staring into the crackling fireplace rather than at the book open in his lap, though as she passed him, his head bobbed in her direction. 

After getting ready for bed, she listened for a long time for the sound of him entering his rooms. Perhaps he’d cast further silencing charms, for she heard nothing at all before she fell asleep reading well after midnight.


	4. Chapter 4

For over a week, Hermione’s days passed quietly and routinely. In very little time, with rest and regular meals, she was feeling back to her old self. But she tempered her impulses to explore the school or interfere in events. She never strayed beyond her room or the Headmaster’s Library. She could see a bit of the grounds looking out on the Black Lake from the window in her bedroom, but other than that, saw nothing of the outside world. The wards on the Headmaster’s Office usually prevented her from hearing anything, either. 

Though she’d noticed after the first few days that those silencing wards seemed to be selectively applied; she often overheard voices in his office, recognizing Professors McGonagall and Flitwick, and two voices that must have been the Carrows by the tone of voice the headmaster used in response. He’d always looked more exhausted when he’d entered the study after those meetings as well, whereas he’d just looked depressed after the meetings with the others.

Yet he was often willing to chat with her, discussing what she was reading and answering her questions with minimal irritation. He seemed to actually enjoy discussing something as simple and straightforward as the application of arithmancy to potion creation. That discussion was the closest she’d ever seen him come to smiling, and his whole face seemed to be transformed by the more pleasant expression; though he would never be a traditionally handsome man, it made him look far less intimidating and quite distinguished. 

It had all surprised her greatly. Though she knew he wasn’t the villain he had been forced to be, such actions were not at all what she expected. She had expected the same surly, sneering behavior towards her. Instead, she found someone reserved, who while not willing to speak of the personal, was quite willing to engage on academic subjects, and was an enjoyable conversationalist with considered opinions on a variety of subjects.

She found herself looking forward to their evening chats, where they’d both enjoy a cup of tea and lose themselves in magical theory which gave her a much better education than she’d have had, than even attending school for the year would have. One evening, she found herself in the study reading through a potions book in anticipation of a discussion on antidote brewing theory when she heard noise in the office beyond. It did not sound anything like the noise she’d heard from his meetings previously; it almost sounded like there was giggling involved, and more female than male voices. There was a lot of muffled noise that sounded like someone moving furniture around.

Hermione was immediately suspicious, and worried. How on earth had someone been able to get into the Headmaster’s Office? And what in Merlin’s name was going to happen when the headmaster realized it? Though she’d come to realize in her time spent with him that Severus Snape was not the fearsome, loathsome man he seemed to be, he was also not one to take kindly to anyone breaking into his offices. And she knew from what little Neville and Ginny had told them before the battle that—-all the pieces suddenly clicked into place for her. 

It took all of her willpower not to burst into the office, though she wasn’t even sure she could if she wanted to. Her friends were right on the other side of the door, trying to get the Sword of Gryffindor. Which she knew needed to be in the Forest of Dean for Harry just after Christmas. She took a deep breath and leaned her head against the back of the chair. If the sword didn’t show up until over a month later, they could not be successful in their endeavors tonight. She would have to let this play out, however difficult it might be. The past could not be changed.

The sound continued for only two or three minutes before she heard the reverberating bang of the wooden office door slamming back. There was wild laughter that reminded her all too much of Bellatrix Lestrange, to the point that she was shaking as she sat listening. Shrieking cries echoed into the study, of Ginny, she thought, surely being hit with  _ crucio. _ Then there was silence. 

She sat on the edge of her chair, straining to listen, and then gave in to her curiosity and walked over to the door. Not for the first time, she wished for one of the Weasley’s extendable ears, but she had a feeling the headmaster’s wards would not have allowed them through the door, even if he trusted her to overhear what was going on in his office at times. As she pressed an ear to the thick oak door, she realized that it was both trust on his part, and a bit of insurance since her statement about testifying on his behalf—if she heard things directly, she could speak to them without it being hearsay. Now, though, she could hear very little beyond the low, dangerous rumble of his voice. 

The sharp protestations of the Carrows seemed horribly loud after his quiet voice, but the cries of Ginny and Neville were louder still. She stepped back, resting her forehead against the doorway.

When the headmaster’s loud, “Enough!” rattled the door, she wasn’t prepared for it, and jumped back further. That muffled all sounds but the Carrow’s continued angry protests. She heard the office door slam, presumably as the Gryffndors left, because the Carrows seemed to persist, until Snape shouted at them again, loud enough for her to hear.

“Two purebloods cannot be killed outright by you fools! In the forest, they can be eaten by some awful creature, giving the Dark Lord the excuse he needs to bring their families to heel as well.” That was as easy to hear as if she’d been in the room with him; her only conclusion was that he wanted her to hear it, wanted her to know the ruse he was trying to operate under. It was, she realized, a brilliant one, seeming to give the Dark Lord everything he wanted should the Carrows raise objections directly, but keeping control of the situation for the headmaster. And putting the responsibility for the students’ safety on Hagrid, who would never knowingly put them in harm’s way.

The voices became muffled again, and she stepped back from the door once she could no longer hear what was being said. A few minutes later there was the sound of a door slamming, echoing through the office and into the study. She returned to her seat at the desk at that, thinking surely his entrance to the study would be imminent. Instead, silence fell, and she heard nothing at all for long minutes except the crackle of the fire and her own breathing.

Then the door swung open slowly, admitting Severus Snape, looking furious and carrying the Sword of Gryffindor in front of him. If she hadn’t already trusted him, she would have been terrified. Even so, she was tempted to flee, though she chose to sink deeper into her chair, cowering a bit. 

When he became aware of her reaction, he lowered the sword with a frown, though the look on his face was still fierce and fearsome. “You heard, Miss Granger?”

“I heard and understood, sir. But what is it you’re planning on doing with the sword?”

“The Dark Lord will want it now, once the Alecto sends word of the students trying to steal it. I need to get it safely out of the castle, somewhere he cannot get to it.” He looked down at the goblin-forged steel in his hands, thoughtful.

She stared at it too, weighing how much she should tell him. With a sigh, she offered, “What if he only thinks it’s been safely removed from the castle?”

“I cannot bring him a replica. He is far too clever for such simple trickery.”

“Of course. But not all of his followers are. And he trusts you.” She wanted to lead him to the conclusion without telling him. And he obviously knew that she knew something of what needed to happen with it, given the way that he was studying her now.

“A simple geminio will make a visible copy. Which I can take with someone, somewhere in a highly visible manner, for it to be protected. Gringott’s?”

“Yes, sir. To a deep, secure vault there that has never been breached.”

He looked at the sword and sighed. “The Malfoys or Lestranges, then.”

She nodded and looked at the sword. 

“He has taken over the Malfoy’s home but that is a punishment, not a show of trust. It must be the Lestranges.”

With a sad smile, she said, “Yes.”

“The original must remain in these rooms then.”

Though she opened her mouth to objects, then closed it again before she could put her foot in it. But he noticed.

“It does not remain here long then.”

“As you probably know, the Sword of Gryffindor will present itself to Gryffindors in time of need. Sometimes it may have help in that presentation.”

“I see.” He stared down at it for a moment before laying it down on the desk and casting the duplication charm on it. In the blink of an eye, there was a second sword, which looked identical to the original, even when sitting right beside it.

“How can you be sure which is which?”

“Pick up the sword on the left.”

She did as he bid, hefting the sword, which did not feel at all unwieldy in her hands, despite its weight and her inexperience in handling such weapons. The feeling was almost akin to the first time she held her wand.

“Now the other.”

It was just as heavy as the other sword, but did not feel as if it responded to her as the other one did. It felt as she’d expected an ancient sword to feel. Eyes wide, she dropped the heavy weapon back down onto the desk, staring at him.

“The lighter sword is the real one. It probably feels different to you as a Gryffindor than to me, but it is forged with magic, not just goblin steel. But it’s a magic the Lestranges will not know or recognize, having never felt it.”

“Is it not so obvious to…” She wasn’t sure how to ask without risking offending him, or sounding foolish.

“It is not so obvious to anyone without both swords in their possession, or without experience wielding the genuine artefact. But I need to act quickly, before the Carrows have the chance to make a report. If you’ll excuse me, Miss Granger.”

She moved out of the way quickly, allowing him to sit down at the desk and jot off a note, on a piece of parchment taken from her sheaf of note-taking scaps. It took only a few minutes, then he carefully folded and sealed it. Rather than sitting it back down on the desk, or summoning an owl, he held it in his left hand. Then he looked at her as he began to roll back his left sleeve, and touched his wand to the hideous mark there, angry as a bruise, growing more livid and vivid as his wand made contact. The note in his hand disappeared in a puff of red.

Words failed her, though a myriad of questions flitted through her mind. She could not take her eyes from the Dark Mark on his arm--it was the first time she’d seen it in such proximity that she could see the details of the mark, noting the combination of ink and scar that marred his forearm. It was surprising to her that he did not pull away, or cover it up.

What was surprising was when it began to writhe angrily, darkening and looking as if a live, angry serpent were trapped under his skin. At this, he gasped and covered it with his other hand, closing his eyes. After a deep breath, he addressed her.

“Take the true sword, and go to your chamber. Hide it there, keep it safe--I do not want to know what you plan to do with it. Only keep it there until such time as you know it needs to be elsewhere.” He rose from the desk and picked up the duplicate sword. “Do not wait up for me. I fear it shall be a long night.”

She didn’t hesitate in picking up the sword, but at the door to the private quarters, she hesitated quite a long time. He picked up the false sword carefully, as if judging its weight and heft, before meeting her gaze with a somber look, and a face that looked a decade older than it had the night before. The frown etched the lines on his face that much deeper, and he shook his head a bit as he swung the replicated sword with the ease of an Arthurian knight. Without another word, he opened the door to the office and disappeared. 

For a long moment, she stared at the closed door, before pushing through the door to the private rooms, and her own bedroom. Then she looked down at the Sword of Gryffindor, knowing how large a role it had to play in the coming months, and tucked it safely under her mattress. As she fell asleep on top of it that night, despite his admonitions, she couldn’t help but listen for the sound of the headmaster returning. But she heard nothing, as she was acutely aware of the sword she was now responsible for guarding.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione did not see Headmaster Snape again until the next evening, nor hear any sounds from his office until well after midday. He retired to the study earlier than usual, though, arriving as she was just finishing up her seafood stew while sitting in one of the fireside chairs. He settled in across from her with a goblet in hand that he sipped silently, allowing her to finish eating while looking close to falling asleep.

Only when she’d sat the bowl and napkin on the side table, and Tilly had appeared briefly to retrieve it and leave a brownie, did he speak. “The time may have come to speak of the future, Miss Granger.”

“Yes, I think some elements of the year are becoming relevant.” She tore the brownie in half, and took a bite, thinking as she chewed. 

“The sword is a lynchpin of what must play out, I take it.” He’d sat his goblet down and was watching her.

“The duplicate was taken by the Lestranges?”

“Oh, the Dark Lord was quite pleased about the situation. He believes that the Sword of Gryffindor has now been secured within the Lestrange family vault. And that rebellious children are being punished in a way that makes an example of them without deliberately spilling pure blood.”

She nodded and took another bite of her brownie. “Good. Soon we’ll need to make sure the real sword comes to us--to Harry.”

“Where are--were you, now? There were a few sightings lately of Weasley, but not of Potter or you. Not since the incident at the Ministry.”

“Yes, well. That went...not according to plan. Nothing has, since then. We managed to retrieve the locket from Umbridge. And the burden of it was too much for Ron. He’s left us by now, I believe. He mentioned a few close encounters with the Snatchers.”

The headmaster sighed, and rubbed at his forehead. “Locket?”

“It’s what Harry and Headmaster Dumbledore were meant to be retrieving that night he--when you--the night he died.”

He was quiet for a long moment, looking down at his hands, before returning his gaze to her and asking, “What makes the locket so valuable, that it was worth risking all your lives for?”

Biting her lip, she tried to puzzle out all the ramifications of explaining to him exactly what their quest involved, and precisely what a Horcrux was. Though, given his skill and knowledge of the dark arts, he probably at least knew what one was, so that would certainly give him an advantage in understanding that they had not had. And he would have to know enough to deliver the sword; surely he would not do so without wanting to know the ‘why’ of it.

Snape interrupted her runaway train of thought. “This is to do with that damned ring, too, isn’t it?”

His perception and directness took her aback for only a second. “Yes. Do you know what the ring was?”

“Based on what Dumbledore told me, and what it did to him, I have an idea.”

She raised one brow, in a faint imitation of his own frequent expression. 

He sighed. “Beyond being a Gaunt family heirloom, I fear it was a Horcrux. My suspicions that it was not the only one are confirmed by the look on your face.”

“Yes. I mean, no. I mean—it was a Horcrux, yes. But no, not the only one.”

He steepled his fingers, and pressed them to his thin lips. For a length of time, he was quiet, clearly thinking. Then he nodded. “And at this point, how many have you found?”

“It’s late November, so just the locket.”

“And do you know how many there are?”

“At this point, the belief was that he’d split his soul into seven pieces.”

“Seven,” he said hollowly, eyes going a bit wide. “I hear a ‘but’ there.”

“Yes. There wasn’t much to go on. We eventually realized he’d chosen objects of meaning to him. His diary, the ring.”

“Diary?”

“The one Harry destroyed in the Chamber of Secrets.”

He made a low rumbling noise that might have been a hum or might have been a growl. It did not seem directed at her, however, as he nodded at her with an expectant look. “To the point, Miss Granger.”

“His diary and the ring, a family heirloom. The locket was Salazar Slytherin’s.” She paused, unsure how much to tell him, and what effect it might have. Now, she knew exactly what the items were. “The others are a cup of Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem, and his snake.”

“Nagini.”

She swallowed and nodded hastily.

“That, plus what little remains of his soul inside his newly formed body is seven. You manage to find and destroy all of these?”

She sighed, but nodded again. “Some not until nearly too late. But yes. Except…”

The only sound in the room as he met her eyes was the crackle of the fire. Then he merely said, “Potter.”

“Yes.”

“So you spun back to save him.” He settled back in his chair, that expression of terrifying neutrality falling back into place.

“No,” she said with a vehement shake of her head. “He survives without my assistance. But I cannot tell you what I came back to do.”

“I doubt very much that it was without your assistance.”

She was once more rendered speechless, shocked at how highly the man seemed to actually think of her. Before he could continue, she managed to gather her wits and ask, “Do you really think so much of me, sir?”

“Potter would not have survived to this point in his schooling without your assistance, nor would Weasley for that matter. You are often too confident in your own abilities, and rely too heavily on books over practical experience. But I have hope that once you finish your basic schooling and further your education in a setting that will allow you to work at a pace more suitable to your intellect, you will have the opportunity to learn how to think for yourself rather than merely parroting back textbooks. From your conversations with me recently, and what you are implying happens throughout the course of this year, it seems you are well on your way to that.”

For a moment she was agog, jaw hanging open. Then she snapped it shut, and merely answered, “Thank you, sir.”

“Now that your ego has been stroked, perhaps you can enlighten me to the relationship between the sword and the Horcruxes.”

He already knew the most dangerous part of all of this, and had barely blinked at the idea of the Horcruxes. She knew there was no one else on earth that was so likely to be understanding of the predicament; now was the time to trust him, and give him the information he needed to trust her. “Harry used the sword to kill the basilisk, by stabbing it in the mouth.”

“So it is impregnated with basilisk venom,” he was nodding, already following her explanation without needing the points connected for him. Such a conversation was a relief to her, after so long pointing obvious things out to the boys. “Albus destroyed the ring with it. And you all will need it to destroy the Horcruxes.”

“Yes. Most of them.”

“Very well,” he was nodding though not looking especially happy. “You are going to have to share more of what you know, and what needs to be done to end this, but not tonight. Now I am going to retire, so that I may think about what all of this means after a few hours of sleep.”

“Goodnight, sir,” she said softly, watching carefully as he shuffled over to the door leading to their respective rooms. He did not look back at her, barely nodding in acknowledgement of her statement.

The following evening, the headmaster once again returned to the study as she was having dinner. This time, Tilly appeared with a pot of tea for him, and he settled in with a cup as she finished her sandwich. Only after he’d poured himself a second cup and added a generous amount of sugar did he break the silence. 

“What needs doing to bring this to an end in May?” He seemed to sense her urge to protest, and cut her off with a wave of his hand. “I am well practiced in Occlumency, Miss Granger, and unfortunately even better practiced in allowing things to happen because they must.”

“Right, well…” she fumbled for a moment, digging into her pocket for the timeline she’d laid out for what had happened during the year, to the best of her knowledge. “To address the sword first, that appears to Harry in the Forest of Dean two days after Christmas.”

From his chair, he was looking at her paper as if he could almost read it through the parchment, but she knew such a thing was most likely impossible. It didn’t keep her from hastily folding it up and tucking it away again, though, as a smirk flitted across his face. “Should I assume Godric’s own magic takes care of that, as it allegedly does?”

“Oh, no sir, I’m quite certain you were the one to deliver it. Harry followed your doe Patronus to the lake where he found it.”

His face grew more expressive than she could ever remember seeing it, anger and sadness warring across it before he took a breath and returned to a look of practiced neutrality. Finally, he said only, “I see.”

“Harry didn’t know it was you then. I’m actually not sure if he realizes now, even knowing your Patronus. Or, when he realizes...anyway.” She shut up, rather than trying to figure out the complexities of time and tense.

The sour expression remained, though it was tempered by a resignation as he sighed and slouched back into the chair. “Where in the Forest of Dean do I need to deliver it?”

“There was a pool not far from where we camped. I’m not sure how to tell you to find it though.” She frowned herself, trying to figure it out.

“You warded your campsite yourself?”

“Of course.” She nodded and bit her lip, trying to understand where he was going.

“I can trace your magic, then. It will be difficult, but easier than wandering through hundreds of acres of forest.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

The sharp spike of his left brow told her all she needed to know, and she nearly smiled.

“I should be back from the Dark Lord’s Christmas revels in time for that. Barring any other urgent holiday needs?”

“No, on Christmas Eve we—“ she caught herself before saying more.

“What did you and Potter do, Miss Granger?” He was practically growling at her.

She sighed, but said, “The Horcrux took its toll on both of us, and Harry had the idea of going to see his parents’ graves on Christmas Eve.”

“I see.” It was clear that he did not like what he was seeing, and she slouched into her chair.

“We saw an old witch walking—a woman we thought was Bathilda Bagshot. But she wasn’t really. Nagini had killed her and was...possessing her body. We thought Bathilda might know something more about which items of the Founders would be Horcruxes but—it was a narrow escape. Harry was bitten and we apparated away just as V—You-Know-Who arrived.”

Headmaster Snape startled at that. “You had some of the antivenin from Arthur to treat him?”

With a slow exhalation, she shook her head. “No. But I don’t think it affected Harry the same way it affected Mr. Weasley. Because of their connection, maybe? Harry seemed to lose himself in their connection, and was unresponsive for almost twelve hours.”

He drummed his fingers on the arms of the chair. “I will have to distract him on Christmas, or he will be there waiting from the moment you encounter Nagini.”

“I never thought of that.”

“You would have no reason to. Were there other times you had narrow misses like that?”

With a shudder, she touched a finger to the still-red scar from Bellatrix’s knife. “Malfoy Manor,” she whispered.

His eyes narrowed and he peered at her neck, before rising and moving to examine it. One cool finger brushed across her skin, light as a feather, and she shivered. He said nothing, turning and walking away, through the door to their rooms and the door to his own, leaving the doors ajar behind him. Mere minutes later, her returned carrying a small pot of salve. 

“Apply this each morning. It will draw out the dark magic left by Bellatrix’s knife.”

She took the pot, looking between the salve and the headmaster for a moment. That he knew exactly what had caused the wound, and already had a treatment at the ready—what did that say about his experiences? 

But all she said was, “Thank you, sir.”

“When?”

“Harry breaks the taboo in late March.”

She could see him grind his teeth. “That leaves us some time to plan. Very well, then.” He poured himself another cup of tea and drank it quickly, still looking fatigued. 

Without another word to her, he returned to his office, the heavy oak door echoing behind him. Once he’d gone, she pulled out her list again, staring down at the long string of events leading up to the final battle, wondering how many of them she’d had more of a helping hand in than she realized.

  
  
  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been a very productive writer this week, so enjoy a sooner-than-planned update!

The month of December went by much as November had. Nearly every evening, he’d retired to join her in the study by eight, toting his own heap of paperwork. Sometimes he allowed her to help with it, spelling her handwriting to look like his on Ministry requisition forms or editing end-of-term reports for him. The relief on his face at her assistance with such mundane tasks was all the reward she needed, though the staving off of boredom was its own reward.

Despite grumbling by the headmaster, and much to Hermione’s delight, Tilly had decorated the study with all of the trimmings of the holiday season, with boughs of holly and pine, sparkling gold and silver garlands, and even a small tree in the corner, twinkling with fairy lights and spun glass ornaments. It made her study time and time poring over the headmaster’s books much more pleasant. Occasionally it was enough to let her forget for a few moments why she was here at all, and just lose herself in a good book, tea, and festive feelings. 

The week before Christmas, it occurred to her that she had not gotten anything for the headmaster for Christmas. Clearly shopping was not a possibility, but one afternoon, as she watched out her bedchamber window as Snape strode across the grounds, hair whipping about in the wintry wind, an idea came to her. 

“Tilly?”

The elf appeared instantly, already curtsying. “How can I help missy?”

“Could you possibly get me some yarn and knitting needles, Tilly?”

The elf eyed her suspiciously, apparently well aware of her past activities.

“I’d like to make a Christmas present for Headmaster Snape.”

Then transformation of the elf’s face was instantaneous. “Oh of course, all the yarns you want, for the headmaster.”

She disappeared without asking anything else, and Hermione smiled as she went back to her reading on treatments for magical bite wounds. Less than halfway through the chapter, though, Tilly reappeared with a basket of yarn in all the colors of the rainbow, and enough knitting needles to make a dozen blankets at once if knitted in the magical way Molly Weasley could. But Hermione preferred to knit by hand, the way her grandmother had taught her; she carefully sorted through the needles and found the gauge she needed. Then she began sorting through the rainbow of yarns until she found, at the bottom of the basket, a charcoal grey and a green so deep it was nearly black.

A little spellwork lifted the book up she’d been reading, and she continued through the chapter, paying special attention to the section on serpents, while she began work on the headmaster’s Christmas present. It was more enjoyable than she’d anticipated, having something new and different with which to occupy herself, and as she knitted and read, she resolved to vary her activity with more than just reading and tea times. When she finished the chapter she paused in her reading to contemplate other things she could do while confined to these rooms; she had done a few yoga classes over summer break with her mother--that would be easy enough to do for half an hour each morning, and would get her moving. She would need to be ready to move quickly when the night of the battle came.

She wondered whether Tilly would allow her to practice some of the wound bandaging techniques she’d been reading; she felt sure that if the elf knew it was to save the headmaster, she’d willingly volunteer. The more she thought, the more she wondered if Tilly might be her answer to more than daily assistance--when the time came, rather than running through the battle raging through the castle and possibly encountering herself, perhaps the elf would be able to take her directly to Headmaster Snape’s aid in the Shrieking Shack. She made a mental note to ask when her lunch was delivered, and returned her focus to her knitting.

When the headmaster returned to his rooms that evening, she quickly vanished the nearly-finished gift back to her bedchambers. He eyed her suspiciously, glancing between her and the basket of yarn and needles beside the desk, but said nothing. 

“The students are all safely away?”

“Mercifully. They are on the train home, and not my responsibility to keep safe for the next few weeks.” He sank into one of the chairs with a sigh. One hand rubbed across his face, before turning his gaze on her. “They all return safely from their holidays?”

She looked away quickly, reaching for the transfiguration book as she answered, “They are not your responsibility to keep safe for the next few weeks.”

He sighed again, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the chair. The room was quiet for a few minutes before he finally said, “We are five days from Christmas Eve, when you and Mr. Potter will make the foolish decision to visit Godric’s Hollow. Fortunately for you both, the suggestion has been made to Narcissa Malfoy that it would be in her best interest as hostess of the Dark Lord to properly celebrate the season with a ball. I shall be gone for several days.”

“Oh.” She put the transfiguration book back down on the desk. “When are you leaving? Is it safe?”

The headmaster blinked at her. “Safe? Of course it’s not  _ safe, _ girl, it’s a party for the Dark Lord and a hundred of his most loyal followers. It will be a lucky thing if only one person is killed.”

She shrank back into the desk chair, looking down at the stack of books rather than at him. “But you won’t be hurt?”

He made an odd noise in his throat, which caused her to finally look up at him. The expression on his face was one she couldn’t quite decipher, not quite blank, with brows raised and eyes slightly wider than usual, studying her. With a quiet sigh, he answered, “Most likely not. With him, nothing is ever a certainty.”

Though she knew that Voldemort was not the only one from whom harm could come, that was some reasonable degree of reassurance. “You will be back to deliver the sword then?”

“I hope I will be able to depart as soon as he leaves to deal with Potter and...you. Though I would not be surprised to receive a summons later. He will be most displeased, perhaps even with me, if he sees my delay as preventing your capture.”

She swallowed hard, trying her best to maintain eye contact with him and failing. 

“If what you say is true, I have already survived the holiday and managed to deliver the sword. Do not trouble yourself with all the what-ifs or you will go mad.” 

He seemed far less concerned than she felt, but she managed a nod in response. “You will be back to celebrate Christmas in the castle, then?”

One brow raised, and he appeared back to his old self. “There will hardly be much here to celebrate.”

It was difficult to argue with that, but she rarely backed down from a challenge. “I think, sir, you will find the small victories must be celebrated, or it will be impossible to make it through the year.”

The noise he made might have been a laugh, but it was hard to tell, never having expected to hear such a sound from him. “Such a Gryffindor still, in spite of everything you say you’ve been through this year.”

“If Bellatrix couldn’t crucio it out of me, I doubt it’s ever going away.”

“She…” His expression was fierce, more frightening in that moment than she’d ever seen him, though she knew it was not directed at her. 

“You cannot do anything about that, either, sir.”

“This year has made it very clear that I cannot do much about anything at all, Miss Granger.”

She wanted to reassure him, to say something more. But he turned away and summoned a book and opened it, seemingly at random, putting their conversation at an end. Even hours later, when she bid him goodnight, he merely nodded in response.

  
  
  


It was Christmas Eve until she saw him again; she wasn’t sure whether he’d been avoiding her by working in his office, or he’d gone off to the Malfoy’s celebration. Nothing changed for her, as she read and knitted and studied undisturbed except by Tilly’s meal deliveries. 

But that evening, she sat by the fire with a cup of chamomile and an Agatha Christie novel she’d found amidst the shelves of magical books. The book sat unopened on her lap, and she’d only drunk half the tea, though, as she sat waiting. Had there been a clock to tick away the minutes, she would have been staring at it, but had managed to refrain from casting a tempus or transfiguring a clock. And she wasn’t even sure precisely what time she and Harry had their encounter at Bathilda Bagshot’s.

She might have been tempted to drift off to sleep, if she wasn’t so on edge; this was the first event from her timeline that she knew the precise date on, and had to happen as it had for her, or she would know she’d changed far more than she intended. Finally, though, she heard the sharp crack of apparition in the Headmaster’s Office.

Within seconds, he was stepping into study, looking haggard, lines etched deep on his face. She noticed those before she took in the formal clothes he was wearing, still in black but a brocaded frock and a silk cravat shot through with a pewter grey, far finer than anything she’d ever seen him wearing before.

“Sir?” She rose from her chair, book falling onto the floor, and took a step towards him before remembering herself.

“Miss Granger.” The way he said her name was almost a sigh, and he leaned back against the office door after closing it, letting his eyes fall shut. He took several slow, deep breaths before he opened them again, staring across the room at her.

She sank back into the chair, summoning the book back to her before calling, “Tilly?”

“Yes Missy Granger?” The elf asked as she appeared, then, spun to bow to the Headmaster. “What can Tilly be helping with?”

“A pot of tea for the Headmaster, please.”

The elf was gone and back again in the blink of an eye, settling the tea tray onto a table between the two fireside chairs. Naturally, she’d brought more than merely tea, including a bit of chocolate and a few biscuits, as well as the sliced fruit she’d learned Hermione was so fond of. “Thank you very much, Tilly. You’re a marvel.”

The elf beamed before disappearing again, leaving the Headmaster shaking his head lightly as he crossed the room and settled into the other chair. But he took the tea she prepared for him without a word, and drank nearly half the cup in one gulp. There was a tension in the way he was holding himself that made her wonder whether he was all right, but she could see nothing amiss with him, and he would certainly never allow her to cast a diagnostic, so she sipped her own tea, and waited.

“When he was discussing the management of Hogwarts students, I told him the Carrows had some ideas for the curriculum that he should hear. They managed to be the ones to delay his departure this evening. It wasn’t by much, but it likely was enough.”

“And keeps suspicion off of you.”

“I was rather hoping it would result in a few hexes upon them. It may still; he will return in a fury, and I believe they did not depart for home as many did.” He closed his eyes and sank back into the chair. “Hopefully he will take his anger out on them, and not summon the rest of us back.”

She studied him a moment, watching the lines on his face ease ever so slightly as he took a deep breath. “Are you free of obligations to him for the time being, then?”

“None of us are ever entirely free of him,” he answered, wagging his head. “He could summon us in five minutes or not call me again until this ultimate conflict you know of.”

Taking a slice of apple for herself, she sent a piece of dark chocolate floating over to him. Catching it between thumb and forefinger, he studied the tree-shaped piece of candy for a moment before popping it in his mouth, closing his eyes as he savored. It was quiet for a few minutes between them, as she sipped the tea and he seemed to lose some of the tension he’d been carrying.

Abruptly, he opened his eyes and asked, “You’ve not left these rooms since you arrived?”

She shook her head. “I’m fairly sure Hogwarts, or Tilly at least, would let you know if I had.”

“There is no one else in the castle right now but us, the ghosts, and the elves. Would you like to go for a walk, Miss Granger?”

The offer stuck her momentarily dumb, but then she managed, “I’d love to, sir. Should I alter myself in some way, just in case?”

“I will disillusion you before we leave this room. My walking the halls alone at night is not a new sight, and no one will be any the wiser so long as you are quiet. If we encounter anyone, even the ghosts, remain as still and quiet as you can.”

When he rose, she followed him to the door. There was a cool flow of magic over her as he disillusioned her; when she looked down, she was unable to see herself at all. In spite of this she smiled up at him, as he opened the door and ushered her through, out of his private rooms for the first time in over six weeks. He was careful to open the doors slowly and give her time to pass through ahead of him as they moved down from the Headmaster’s Tower to the school proper. Something felt different about the castle tonight, she thought; perhaps it was the lack of any other students in what was normally a noisy and crowded place, perhaps it was the way the castle seemed to respond to the Headmaster, the stairs always being at the ready and pointed in the right direction.

Neither of them spoke, but he clearly moderated his pace as he walked so that she could keep up with him, as they passed the Trophy Room and Sir Cadogan’s portrait, which watched the Headmaster pass with lance at the ready. Along the Charms corridor they wandered, and even, after a subtle warming charm covering them both, out along the north battlements. They must have walked three miles around the school, without a word passing between them.

Only when they returned to the safety of the Headmaster’s Library did he cast Finite on the disillusionment. Their eyes met for a moment as the spell faded and she reappeared, smiling up at him, seeing warmth in those dark eyes. It was wholly unexpected, but warmed her to see.

“Thank you for the walk, sir. It was a lovely Christmas present.”


	7. Chapter 7

Unlike every other Christmas since she’d started at Hogwarts, Hermione did not awaken to a pile of gifts on her bed. But at least she was in a warm, safe bed, unlike her other self this year; she remembered the visceral fear for Harry, as he’d thrashed and sweated, the locket Horcrux seeming to bind to his skin as if trying to rejoin the two pieces of Voldemort’s soul. Even the memory made her shiver, still wrapped in the warmth of the Hogwarts down bedding.

When she’d dressed and made her way into the study, she was surprised to find Headmaster Snape already there and waiting for her, sitting by the fire with a pot of tea and a pain au chocolat halfway to his lips. Rather than putting it down, as she might have expected, he took a bite, then waved his other hand at her, gesturing to the bounty of pastries and fruit provided by the elves, who’d had nothing to do for a week but indulge in elaborate holiday baking. There wasn’t a smile on his face, exactly, but he certainly looked more at peace than he had any time she’d seen him this year. She settled across from him, taking a pastry of her own, and accepting the tea he sent her way, with just a splash of milk.

“Happy Christmas, Headmaster.”

“And to you, Miss Granger.”

Their breakfast was enjoyed quietly, the light from the sparkling tree casting a homey feel over the room. As they were finishing up their meal, she summoned the hat and mittens she’d knitted for him, wrapped in silver paper and tied with a green bow that Tilly had provided her with. It had taken a great deal of restraint to keep herself from making anything for the elf, who’d been a tremendous help to her these last few weeks. 

When she offered the gift to the headmaster, his brows rose, and he did not reach out for it. She shook it a little, as if enticing a shy child, the paper shimmering a bit in the light.

“What is this?”

“A Christmas present.”

“I thought you had not left these rooms.” His voice was cold, and he did not reach for the gift, instead folding his arms across his chest.

“I--I didn’t. Tilly brought me what I needed to make it,” she answered in a small voice, feeling like a chastened student once again. But then she sent the present floating over to him anyway, with a whispered spell. 

He eyed it warily, but did reach out to take it. For a long moment, he stared down at the package in his hands, then glanced between it and her, as if she’d confused him, or was trying to play a trick.

“It’s not a prank, sir, just a gift. A small one, compared to your generosity in allowing me to stay here.”

The package looked small in his hands, the silver paper nearly the same color as his pale skin. The green of the ribbon looked bright against them both, as he began to untie it.

But then he dropped it onto his lap with a gasp. Their eyes met again, worry and fear now apparent in his eyes, before they dropped to his forearm.

“I must go.” He rose, placing the gift down firmly on the seat of the chair, looking at it for a second before turning away and quickly leaving out the door to the Headmaster’s Office. 

The door echoed behind him, leaving her sitting alone in the festive room, his cup of tea still steaming. She stared at the unopened gift for a moment, then picked it up and put it under the tree to await his return. 

Glancing around the room, she shrugged and called for Tilly, sending back the uneaten baked goods and asking for more tea. Then she settled in with a novel to await his return. Though things had gone well during the Malfoy’s holiday ball, she was worried that this time, the morning after she and Harry had escaped, Voldemort would not be so pleased with his followers. She also worried that he would not return in time to deliver the sword to Harry as must be done.

Most of the afternoon was spent gazing into the fireplace, chewing on her lip, and occasionally drinking a cup of tea. Tilly brought her festively decorated cakes at tea time, which she ignored. Dinner was a full on Christmas dinner with goose and stuffing and plum pudding for dessert; the elves had gone all-out for the lone inhabitant of the castle, but she could barely force herself to eat more than a few bites of each dish.

Though her eyes were heavy, she did not retire to her rooms as usual when the hour grew late. Instead, she transfigured her chair into a chaise, and summoned a blanket from her rooms. She settled in to wait further, opening a book on healing charms to try and occupy herself, and possibly subconsciously prepare herself. She knew what Bellatrix had done to her, and how she’d felt for days afterwards, but she wasn’t sure what an angry Voldemort would do to his followers. 

It was well after the midnight hour when she’d last cast tempus, when she heard a noise in the Headmaster’s Office that might have been an apparition. She froze at the sound, unable to tell exactly what it was. Minutes passed without the the study door opening, and she quietly transfigured the couch back into a chair, and folded her blanket over the back of it. Then she crossed the room and pressed her ear to the door, listening. She thought she could hear something on the other side of the door, like fingers trying and failing to grasp the latch.

Stepping back, she was sorely tempted to disillusion herself and open the door. But she wasn’t even sure she could open the office door.

“Tilly?” she whispered.

The elf appeared in a heartbeat, glancing between Hermione and the office door. “Yes, Missy Granger?” 

“I think there’s someone in the Headmaster’s Office. I’m worried it’s the Headmaster, and he may be injured. Can you check, and bring him in here if he is?”

“It is,” said the elf, ears flapping as she nodded. “But Headmaster has told elves we are not to help him.”

“I see,” though she truly didn’t. The elves would obviously be happy to help, and Tilly at least clearly cared for him. “You wouldn’t be the one helping him, just moving him. Any helping, I will do.”

Tilly seemed to be considering, weighing her vows to the school and headmaster, her promise to Headmaster Snape, and Hermione’s request. After a moment, she nodded, and popped away. Hermione then heard more noise--mostly grumbling and groaning in a voice she definitely recognized--from the other side of the door, before it swung open, admitting the elf and the Headmaster, who she was levitating towards the chairs by the fire. He was shaking, and groaning, and clearly in no form to be doing anything for himself.

Hermione quickly transformed one of the chairs back into a couch, and watched as Headmaster Snape was settled onto it.

“Thank you Tilly. A pot of chamomile, perhaps? And that will be all for the evening. You’ve been very helpful.”

The elf disappeared and reappeared with tea, as she was settling a blanket over the Headmaster while he glared at her. She ignored his look, nodded in acknowledgement to Tilly, and cast a basic diagnostic on him, concerned about the tremors running through him but recognizing them for what they likely were.

“Is it just the Cruciatus, sir?” She tentatively rested one hand on his shoulder.

“Just, girl?” he growled out, between breaths he was obviously measuring to try and control his body.

“No other injuries to treat,” she clarified. “I know all too well there’s no ‘just’ about it.”

He managed to shake his head in the negative before clamping his jaw as another series of tremors wracked him. “It will pass in a few hours. Go to bed.”

“It will alleviate faster if you keep your muscles warm and relaxed. Do you have any muscle relaxing potion?”

For a minute he glared at her, as if he was considering snapping at her, but closed his eyes when another tremor ran through his body. When he opened them again, he was still staring at her, but less harshly, and he summoned a potion from his private chambers. She grabbed it out of the air, carefully pulling the stopper from the bottle and then tilting it into his mouth, one hand resting on his jaw to hold him steady. He’d jumped at her touch, but she’d written that off to the after-effects of the Cruciatus. As she pulled her hand away, she tucked one lock of his thin, lank hair back behind his ear. He watched her curiously.

“Is that helping?” 

He blinked, then his eyes fell closed again and his breathing steadied. “Yes.” 

“Good. Let me build up the fire a bit while it takes effect. When you’re feeling up to it, some tea will help, too.”

When she turned back to him, he was watching her, still looking slightly out of sorts.

“What happened, sir? Can you talk about it?”

That seemed to snap him out of whatever mood he was in. His face returned to a more neutral expression, hardening a bit. “The Dark Lord was most displeased. Mostly with the Carrows, whose discussion of cursing Hufflepuffs he blames for missing out on Potter.”

“If he blames the Carrows, then why--”

“I encouraged their discussion. He had me punish them, then he punished me.”

“Oh.” She looked away then, towards the teapot. For lack of anything else to do, she poured herself a cup, and offered it to him. After a moment’s hesitation, he sat up slightly and took it from her, wrapping long fingers around the warm cup, their fingers brushing briefly. She watched him drink, Adam’s apple in his pale throat bobbing, and she couldn’t help but think of what was to come.

“This shall pass, Miss Granger. You needn’t worry.”

“It’s happened before?”

“You said that you knew what I was.” At her nod, he continued, “Did you think such a position came without commensurate risks?”

“I supposed I hadn’t thought it fully through.”

He sighed, and took a long sip of tea. “I didn’t, either,” he said so quietly she wasn't sure she was meant to have heard.

“You will get through this sir. I’ll make sure of it.” She spoke with absolute certainty, with the knowledge that every word she said was true.

For a long moment, he searched her face, as if trying to figure out everything she knew. “It will get harder before it gets easier, won’t it?” he finally asked.

She looked away, before meeting his eyes. “It will.”

The silence stretched between them for long minutes. Finally, he sat up fully and shrugged off the blanket. “I am quite recovered now.”

There was little she could do as she watched him go off to his rooms beside re-transfiguring the couch back into a chair, and put the tea tray to rights, for Tilly to retrieve later. When she stepped into the vestibule, she pressed her ear to the Headmaster’s door, but heard no further sounds from within, nor did she hear anything through the wall as she did her best to fall asleep.

  
  


She did not see him again until tea time the next afternoon. He looked exactly the same as he always did, and sat down to pour himself a cup of Darjeeling as if nothing at all had happened the other night. From the chair with her book she watched him, waiting for him to say something. When he didn’t, even after drinking a cuppa, she decided to pick up where they’d left off Christmas morning, and sent his present floating back over to him.

He watched it approach with a wary expression, but took it much more readily than he had the day before. This time, he untied the ribbon and carefully unwrapped the paper without a word, revealing her handiwork. He stared down at the dark wool for so long that she felt compelled to speak.

“It’s a hat and mittens. But there’s a flap for the fingers, if you need to use your wand, or pick something up.”

“Thank you.” There was a huskiness to his voice she’d not ever heard before, and he was tentative as he picked up one of the dark grey mittens with their green-striped cuffs, and pulled one on, then the other, and flexed his fingers.

“There’s a light warming charm in the knit, too,” she ventured with a quiet smile, pleased at his seeming acceptance of the gift.

He stared at his hands for a moment, then cleared his throat. “The Sword of Gryffindor must be delivered to Potter tomorrow. Tell me the specifics.”

She nodded, thinking for a minute about that night as he tucked the hat and mittens into his robes with delicate precision. Then she cleared her own throat and began, “It was evening, I was asleep and Harry was on watch, since I was exhausted from nursing him through...whatever Nagini’s attack triggered. He saw a Patronus approach, and followed it because it was a doe, and he thought it was his mother, guiding him.” 

She paused, eyeing him for a reaction to the mention of Lily Potter in light of what she’d seen in the Pensieve, but his face remained blank. Thinking back on what Harry and Ron had told her, she tried to remember all the details. “There was a pool in the forest, a little ways from our camp. Harry followed the doe there, and saw the sword under the ice, and dove in after it. Ron had been trying to find us, and either saw the doe, or heard Harry shouting after it, and saw him diving into the water. He saved him, and they both came back together.”

Headmaster Snape sighed. “Naturally, Potter must retrieve it in the most dramatic way possible. Is it still secure in your chambers?”

“Yes, I check on it each morning.”

“Bring it to me at lunchtime tomorrow, and I will see to it.”

She nodded, and he rose, stepping into his office without another look at her. Hermione sat staring at the door for a long time after he’d gone. 

The next day at noon, she carried the Sword of Gryffindor into the study. The headmaster was there waiting for her, a smirk on his face as he watched her walk in, brandishing the weapon. 

“Here you are, sir.” She presented it to him hilt-first, and he took it carefully, hefting it as if he might actually wield it for just a moment.

“This could kill the Dark Lord.” His eyes were focused on the gleaming blade.

“It could, but not yet. Not until the Horcruxes are destroyed. You must set that in motion.”

He stood staring at the weapon for a minute before deftly tucking it into his robes, invisible to anyone who might see him. Then, in a whirl of black robes he was out the door, leaving her alone to wait and worry once more.


	8. Chapter 8

When Headmaster Snape returned, it was late but he was looking less worn than he had after his other recent stints away from Hogwarts. He still looked cold and tired, with dark circles under his eyes, but the lines in his face were not etched quite so deeply as he settled into a chair by the fire, though he closed his eyes as his head fell back against the seat. 

“It is done.”

“You saw him? He and Ron made it out of the water?”

“With a few subtly-cast warming charms, yes, they managed not to drown or die of hypothermia. How did you manage to keep both of them alive while also dealing with a Horcrux?” He peered at her through narrowed eyes, but there was no harshness for her in his tone.

She huffed out something that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Stubbornness, mostly. It got easier for a while after tonight, once the Horcrux was destroyed and Ron was back.”

“What happens for the three of you after this? Need we be on watch to be certain the timeline is playing out properly?”

“Not much, not for a while. There’s a close call tomorrow, when we go to see Mr. Lovegood but--”

“Why on earth would you go see him?” He sat up a bit then, eyes opening fully.

“He was at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, wearing a necklace. The symbol matched one in some of Dumbledore’s letters. We thought it might be a clue. And we thought he might help us, since we were friends of Luna.”

“And does he?”

“He does explain the symbol, so in that sense, yes. But--when you were at Malfoy Manor, you didn’t hear about Luna?”

“I did not,” he said, warily.

“She was taken off the train home from Hogwarts. They’re holding her as leverage to stop  _ The Quibbler _ from publishing against You-Know-Who. Mr. Lovegood tries to turn us in exchange for her. At the time it was awful, but...I can’t blame him for wanting to save his daughter.”

The Headmaster sighed. “What symbol could have possibly been worth near-capture?”

“The Deathly Hallows.”

“Oh Circe save us, that old story!”

“So you know it?”

“It is a tale for children, Miss Granger. You risked your lives for someone wearing the equivalent of a Superman pendant!”

“But it’s not, or not just,” she corrected gently, with a shake of her head.

“You’re telling me the Hallows are real?” One of his brows crept higher than she’d ever seen it before and his voice was drier than the Sahara.

“The Hallows were a wand, a cloak, and a stone.” At his nod of agreement, she continued, “The wand passed through many hands, but the Resurrection Stone and the cloak of invisibility stayed in the families of the Peverell brothers. The Gaunt family set the stone into a ring. The Potter family found many uses for their invisibility cloak. The wand...the wand found its way to powerful wizards. Like Grindelwald.”

“And Dumbledore.” He’d caught on almost immediately, staring at the office door. “He had two of the three Hallows in his office a year ago.”

“Dumbledore believed in the Deathly Hallows, because he possessed one of them. Perhaps the most dangerous of them.”

“And what do they have to do with your Horcrux task? The ring holding the Resurrection Stone was turned into one, but Dumbledore had to destroy it with the sword, so clearly the Elder Wand cannot destroy a Horcrux.”

“No. But the story says whoever possesses all the Hallows will be the master of death. That’s what You-Know-Who wanted to accomplish with the Horcruxes--immortality. But in the end, it’s Harry who--” She snapped her jaw shut, unsure how much she should say, and not even sure she really understood all that had happened, not having had much chance to talk with Harry before turning back for what was supposed to be a quick mission to save Severus Snape.

“Oh, naturally, Potter must possess all the Hallows, too.” He was shaking his head. “He really set you three on an impossible task, didn’t he?”

“It felt that way many days. Especially for the next few months.” Just thinking back on it made her want to curl under a blanket.

“What happens for the next few months?”

“Very little. We’re mostly cold and hungry, until the boys make a drastic decision in March.”

“I have a feeling I am going to want to kill them both myself by the time I hear a full recounting of this year from you.”

“There were a few times I could have done it myself. But we couldn’t have done it without working together, in the end.”

He sighed and simply stared at her, as if trying to understand her. “If you had not already assured me of how this works out in the end, I would be most reluctant to allow all of this to play out as you say it does.”

“You’ll just have to trust me on that, sir.”

For nearly a minute, he was quiet, emotions that may have been shadowy tricks of the firelight flickering across his face. Finally something seemed to settle within him, as his shoulders relaxed and his face became almost pleasant. “What are your plans for these long cold months when nothing needs to be done but surviving a genocidal maniac?”

“Well, I know you said practical potion lessons weren’t really possible, but is there any way I can access a brewing space?”

“You’re already more than capable of any potion in that book. I hardly see--”

“It’s not for a potion from the text.” This was the crux of the matter, really, and she needed his help to save him. “I need to make sure both of us are in possession of the antivenin you used to treat Mr. Weasley.”

“That I used to treat Mr. Weasley?” He raised a brow, and nearly smirked at her.

“Who else if not you?”

“You have presumed correctly. But it is not a potion with a long shelf life. When do you need it?”

“We should both carry it, that last night.” She paused, and they stared at one another a long, silent moment. Then she continued, tentatively, “Was it something you had to create when Mr. Weasley was bitten, or is it a known formula? Are you sure it’s as efficacious as possible? Could there be improvements made?”

There was a definite hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips as he shook his head, she was certain. “It is a variation on Dayal’s Viper Antidote, modified to the known properties of Nagini.”

At her raised brows and mouth working to form unspoken questions, he continued, “Her venom does not paralyze as does normal venom, but triggers a reaction similar to the Cruciatus curse. It’s also a powerful anticoagulant. The modifications to Dayal’s strengthens the coagulant properties and actually dampens neural transmission rather than stimulating it.”

“You did that in hours?”

“Not entirely. I acquired some of the venom shortly after the Dark Lord’s return, under the guise of poison creation, and had been working with it for several months, knowing it was only a matter of time before he used her against someone in the Order. As it appears he does again.” He stared straight at her, until she had to look away. “If the snake is a Horcrux, he will not endanger her unless he’s certain she will make the kill. Who have you returned to save with this, Miss Granger?”

She wanted to answer his soft, silky voice. But she couldn’t, could only shake her head and refuse to meet his eyes as she did her best to keep the tears from falling down her cheeks.

“The Dark Lord kills me with the snake, doesn’t he?”

A shuddering sigh escaped her, and she realized that she had no choice; she had to explain to him what must play out. “He summons you, during the final battle, and sets the snake upon you. We thought you were dying, you gave us memories and we--we left you.” She was crying then, letting the tears fall unashamedly, for it felt worse now than it had in the moment, knowing him better, knowing who he’d been all along. “I came back after, with Professor McGonagall. I thought we were coming to retrieve your body. But...you were alive. You’d been dosed with antivenom and your neck had been bandaged, and you were barely conscious but reached up and touched the time turner where I’d put it under my jumper. That’s when I realized I’d turned back to save you.”

His face had gone blank again, but not his eyes--they were wild, bright, studying her as if she held the mysteries of the universe. 

“I’m sorry, sir, I shouldn’t have told you. No one should know something like that, and--”

“Quiet yourself, Miss Granger.” His voice was very calm, but lacking the dangerous edge it sometimes carried. Now, it was soft, nearly gentle, though she’d never have thought the word to apply to him. From somewhere, he produced a handkerchief and passed it to her, saying nothing more as she tried to get herself under control.

This was the first time she’d cried since the final battle, and it seemed as if everything she’d been holding back and trying not to think of, from the lives lost to the damage done, to the sheer relief of it finally being over, to the enormity of the task she’d set for herself in turning back to save Headmaster Snape, welled up and overflowed, and she was powerless to stop it now that it had begun. She sat silently, with tears streaming down her face, trembling. 

He said nothing, but summoned a blanket to wrap around her, and offered her another handkerchief before calling on Tilly. The elf looked between the two of them with enormous eyes, then turned to obey the whispered command he gave her. Moments later, Tilly returned with tea and chocolate, which she began to put next to Hermione, but the Headmaster intercepted it, then quietly sent her away again. Even as he fixed her a cup of chamomile and handed it to her, he said nothing. She couldn’t help but watch the graceful, practiced movements of his long fingers, or the way that the lines in his face had seemed to ease. Her hand shook as she lifted the cup, but she managed a few sips of tea, which forced her to regulate her breathing. That, more than anything, seemed to help calm her.

“I’m so sorry.”

He took a slow, deep breath before answering her. “Please stop apologizing for trying to save my life, Miss Granger. It is...beyond what I ever expected of anyone.”

She studied the cup of tea rather than his face, because it was easier than trying to understand the expression she saw there. “I didn’t want you to know.”

“How in Merlin’s name did you think you were going to dose me with antivenom without my help in brewing it? From what you described, I clearly knew you’d turned back to help me.” 

“That’s...that’s an excellent point, sir.” Drinking the tea bought her more time to tumble that thought around in her mind. “You will help me with the antivenin then?”

“It would be foolish in the extreme not to help you.”

“Oh, thank you sir, that’s a weight off my mind.”

“It appears a great deal has been weighing rather heavily upon you.”

That was unexpected from him, but she nodded. “Yes. It’s a difficult year. Things have been weighing on you, too.”

“They have,” he said cautiously, once again looking wary. “But they are burdens I chose to bear; you have been tasked with enough, both by Dumbledore and of your own volition.”

She wanted to protest, tell him she’d already borne her burdens and now could help him as she’d helped Harry. But he would not allow it, she knew, certainly not in the overt way she’d shared the burden of the Horcrux with her friend. It would have to be enough that he was allowing her to help with the antivenin, and with saving him in the end. That would have to be enough for her, and perhaps it would be enough to help him a little too, if he continued to allow her to help with requisitions and paperwork.

“Will you still join me here in the evenings?”

“As I am able. And I will find us a time and a place to work on the antivenin. I no longer have a personal laboratory as part of my quarters as headmaster, but perhaps the castle will have a solution for us.”

Nodding, she cast tempus, eyes widening at the late hour. When he rose, she did as well.

“If he has not summoned me by now, he has not noticed that another Horcrux has been destroyed. That is to your other self’s advantage. Now, I am going to sleep.”

He didn’t wait for her response, but she followed him to the vestibule door. When he turned back to her as he opened the door, it was not with the glower she expected, but something gentle, almost hopeful on his face. No words passed between them, only a silent nod, as they returned to their respective rooms, the unicorn on the tapestry barely looking up from her grazing as they went by.

For the first time in nearly a week, Hermione fell asleep without feeling like she had to keep one ear out for Headmaster Snape, or worry about what she needed to make sure happened the next day.


	9. Chapter 9

Hogwarts had accommodated the Headmaster’s request of a potions laboratory in which they could work. But it had not delivered them a lab that opened off the vestibule, or even off the study; instead, it had created a floor between the hallway below and the Headmaster’s Office, where an alcove with a statue of Edmure the Ineffable had once stood. No one had ever paid the statue any mind, and it was likely that the door would be equally unremarked upon. Certainly the unobservant Carrows, the Headmaster assured her, would take no notice of it. And if they did, the  _ first _ door opened into a records room, full of files and boxes, disguising the small door at the back of the room through which they entered the lab.

The headmaster had spent several hours that first day in the lab as she waited in the study, wanting to be sure that it was safe for her to join him. The wards accepted her immediately, but Hermione could still feel their power as she stepped through them and into the lab. It was different than the classroom laboratory she’d been accustomed to, and there was pride as the potions master showed her around the facility the castle had created for them. There were stainless steel work benches and modern burners to maintain steady temperatures under a whole array of cauldron types and sizes. 

There was already something simmering away in one tiny silver cauldron at the end. That, naturally, drew her attention.

“What’s this?” She kept her distance, but examined the color and the texture--a clear, vivid blue like the spring sky.

“It is the base of Dayal’s Viper Antidote. It needs to simmer another four hours, until it darkens to midnight blue.”

“Shouldn’t I have been helping with that?” She crossed her arms and looked up at him. If he was doing such basic things himself, would he really allow her to be of any help with the real antivenin?

He pulled a volume off the shelf above the brewing station and handed it to her. “Turn to page 42 and tell me if anything about this potion isn’t something you were more than capable of brewing as a third-year.”

She eyed him for a minute before opening the book, then hastily turned to the suggested page and began to read. “No, sir, other than taking far longer to brew than anything we made in class it appears to be quite basic.”

“It is. The potion is more than 1600 years old, though improvements and variations have been made on the original, of course. I saw no reason to waste either of our time with that, when I was able to brew this while also setting up the space and its wards.”

“Oh. Well.”

“Yes. Now, if you’re quite done and prepared to listen?” At her nod, he continued, “Dayal’s base functions as a base for the antivenin I created when Arthur Weasley was attacked. This is the modification I created last year.”

He summoned another volume, this a plain green volume full of hand-written potion formulas. She badly wanted to sit down and read all of it, in his neat, spiky script, but he had opened it clearly to one page before handing it to her. These directions were much more complex than the directions for Dayal’s Viper Antidote, requiring nerve agents and a complex balance of coagulant agents. She studied it in silence for a few minutes, reading through the step-by-step instructions and adding up the brewing time. 

“It takes three days to brew, if we start with the existing base?”

“And shelf life is somewhere around four days, give or take, depending on storage conditions.”

“What is ideal storage?”

“Cooler is better, though freezing will destroy it.”

“All right, if nothing else, I want to brew a batch of what used on Mr. Weasley to be ready April 30th. But you think we can do better?”

He nodded, and summoned a sheaf of notes, less legible and with many ink blots and much crossing out. “The formulation in my notebook was created in a matter of days. With time to experiment, I have no doubt it can be improved. I do not have that time now, but you have it in spades.”

“Where would you suggest we start?”

“I had to use standard blood replenishing ingredients, rather than those tailored to the exact affects to the snake. That acts by simply replenishing the blood that has been lost, rather than ceasing the anticoagulation caused by the snake.”

“So you want me to work on the coagulation issue first.”

“It should be simple enough for you, I think. Here are a few volumes to get you started.” With a wave, he called three books to the table. “I would start by looking at the properties of witch hazel, as it generally works well with the base ingredients in Dayal’s.”

Her eyes widened as he opened the cabinet of ingredients. Clearing her throat, she asked, “Will I be able to work every day?”

“While the school is empty, it will be simple enough to disillusion you and bring you down here. Once students and staff return, it will become more complicated. You may have to come down very early, and stay until after my five o’clock meeting with the Carrows.”

“I can always slip back up during dinner.” She said it casually, as she opened one of the books, but his response was sharp.

“You cannot come or go through the Headmaster’s Office without disillusionment. You must come down and return with me. Otherwise, the prohibition on leaving your room and the study remains.”

She wanted to argue, or ask if this room could be connected with the study in some other way. But she understood the necessity of it, and didn’t want any of the portraits, especially Phineas Nigellus Black, seeing her. “We’ll make it work. I can do a lot of the reading in the study, and optimize lab time for actual work.”

“Very well. I leave you to it for now, then.”

It was shocking to her when he turned and departed, leaving her alone in the lab to work. But over the next few days, it became a rather normal routine for them, and she made a great deal of progress on coagulant research. She also made her own batch of Dayal’s, just to be certain she could. The former potions professor had just rolled his eyes and proclaimed that of course she’d brewed such a simple potion perfectly, and marched back up to his office as she’d done a little dance around the lab.

Then the staff returned, and rather than the firm Severus Snape he’d been, he returned to an even more dour Headmaster Snape, lines that had seemed to fade as they worked in the lab or chatted in the evenings etching deep into his face again and dark circles shadowing his eyes. More than once, she heard shouting in his office, not just from the Carrows, but the stringent tone of Professor McGonagall too, and once students returned the argumentative voice of Ginny. But she never asked him about that, instead trying to take his mind off the misery of running Hogwarts by asking about potions, or magical theory, or anything she could think of that might catch his fancy. 

One night, early in the term, she was discussing the addition of both witch hazel and fanged geranium root as part of her work tomorrow, he stopped her with a shake of his head. 

“Unfortunately you will be unable to spend time in the lab tomorrow, as I will not be here to escort you.”

“Oh,” she said, nibbling her lip. He’d been here since the sword, and it had been a relief not to have to worry about his safety. “Where are you going?”

“The Dark Lord, in his infinite wisdom, has decided that my birthday should be celebrated properly.”

Her eyes grew wide, but she was afraid to ask just what such a celebration might entail. He answered her unspoken question, though, having come to recognize her expressions now.

“It will surely not be the nice glass of burgundy by the fire with a slice of chocolate cake, a good book, and silence that I would wish for.”

“No, but that sounds lovely, sir.” She made a note to see if Tilly could arrange at least some of those things for him when he returned. The silence she granted him then, and wondered what else she could do for his birthday, though it seemed clear he was not the celebratory sort.

The next night, she did not expect him to return until well past dinner. When Tilly brought Hermione dinner, they discussed options for the Headmaster, and Tilly managed to turn up a decent bottle of Pinot noir from the year he’d been born, and a thick slice of gooey chocolate cake that she placed under stasis. Hermione sat with  _ Herball Medicines _ open on her lap, but mostly sat gazing into the fire, wondering what Severus was doing.

That thought had initially snapped her eyes wide and dropped her jaw, for it seemed both overly familiar and a sign of disrespect for the Headmaster. But over these months, she realized, he had slowly become more than the head of a school at which she was no longer a student. He was no longer an abstract idea of a Professor, but a man, with foibles and flaws, but also something approaching a friend, and a mentor. She only hoped that she never slipped and spoke his name aloud without having been invited, however she might think of him in her own mind.

With a sigh, she closed the book and cast tempus. It was so late it was nearly early instead, his birthday having technically passed as she was lost in her thoughts. She knew she should go to sleep in her rooms, rather than taking the risk of waiting for him in the study, but she wanted to wish him a happy birthday, so he would get such a greeting from at least one person who meant it sincerely. 

Instead, she ended up dozing off, wrapped in the blanket and slouched in the chair. When he crashed through the door with such force it bounced against the wall before slamming closed, she nearly fell out of the chair in shock. As she caught herself, she noticed that he was barely wrapped in his robes, and his skin—so much skin!—was paler than she’d ever seen it.

He seemed to take no notice of her, crashing through the room, and two further doors into his own chamber. He’d apparently not set the silencing charms, for she heard him retching and heaving. She sat for a moment as her own stomach turned at the sound, and weighed following after him. Even if his wards admitted her to his rooms, which she doubted, she knew he would not appreciate her presence at all. Eventually, she heard water running, possibly his shower. She settled back into the chair to wait, opening up the book that had fallen closed on her lap.

It was nearly twenty minutes later that he emerged, looking nothing like the Headmaster Snape she saw every day. His damp hair was slicked back, highlighting the profile his hair usually hid, and he was wearing charcoal grey pants and a dark grey robe that looked quite soft. And he wore only slippers, treading silently across the floor towards her, still looking quite pale and as ferociously angry as one could look when attired in what must have been his pyjamas.

“What are you doing here?” It started off as a growl, but ended up sounding more exhausted than anything.

“I wanted to wish you happy birthday. I asked Tilly to bring you wine and chocolate cake.”

His dark eyes looked so tired and sad in the firelight. If it had been anyone else, she would have thought them close to tears. “Miss Granger…” 

He trailed off and practically collapsed into the chair across from her, covering his face with his hands. After a moment, he scrubbed at his face and ran his fingers back through his hair. With a heavy sigh, he simply said, “Thank you.”

“Do you need to talk about it?” she asked gently.

Hastily, he shook his head, hair beginning to fall back into its usual place. “Occlumency has its uses.”

“You shouldn’t have to live that way.”

“And you of all people should not be subjected to hearing what Death Eaters consider an appropriate birthday celebration.”

She shuddered, more than able to guess what might have gone on. “Chocolate might help, then.”

“Indeed it might,” he said slowly, turning to pick up the plate. He ate in silence, making no further overtures at conversation though he was clearly pleased by the cake. 

No words were necessary when he finished and they both rose, making their way towards the door leading to their rooms. This time, though, when they reached the vestibule, he drew her up short with a hand on her shoulder, light, brief, and electric. Their eyes met and held, just for a second.

“I will see you at seven to escort you to the lab. Good night.”

If he’d been one of the boys, she would have grabbed him and wrapped him in a hug. That would never have been allowed, or would have resulted in her being evicted from the castle. Instead, she simply echoed his soft, “Good night.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning of some canon-typical violence towards students in this chapter.

After the events of his birthday, there had been few summons of the Headmaster, and life resumed something like a normal schedule. She rose early, gathered a few books in the study, and Severus would disillusion her and leave her at their potions lab when he descended for breakfast. Tilly would bring her breakfast and tea there, as she read and researched and even occasionally brewed. Occasionally she could hear footsteps pounding up the stairs, or raised voices as they climbed--but never the Headmaster’s. He would usually come to the lab after dinner, joining her as she ate hers to hear what progress, if any, had been made, or to answer her questions. Sometimes they just sat, and Tilly would bring him a glass of wine to enjoy as she ate; oftentimes, those felt like the best evenings, the stress of impending events seeming to ease just a bit, just for a while.

Sometimes he disillusioned her and went back up to the study with her and they sat by the fire and read in peace, or sometimes he would hand her reports to check over for him. But there were other nights, when he looked more haggard. Then he sent her on into the study and remained in his office--often those were nights when there had been a lot of footsteps on the stairs and shouting. She worried about him most on those nights, as it was obvious that running the school to Voldemort’s specifications while also keeping all the students alive was an almost impossible task. He seemed to age in front of her eyes--the lines in his face grew deeper, his skin grew more sallow and she swore there were flashes of silver in his dark, thin hair.

Early in February, when he joined her in the lab as she ate a bowl of chicken soup, he practically collapsed into one of the stools. She watched him for a moment, then pushed the brownie Tilly had left towards him, the plate scraping across the table. He jumped at the sound, then stared at the dessert a moment before reaching out a faintly trembling hand and taking it. But rather than eating it, he seemed to mostly just break it into pieces.

“I had a thought,” she said, clearing her throat after he finally ate a nibble of the brownie. He didn’t even raise a brow at her, just stared. She wanted to hug him, but instead continued, “I’ve been working with modifications to the blood replenisher, which made me think that maybe I should just be brewing some straight blood replenisher. It’s shelf-stable for six months, and come May, we’re going to need it.”

“A good idea. But procuring enough ingredients without attracting attention will be difficult.”

“That’s where Tilly comes in.”

“Tilly?” That did cause a raised brow, though his expression was one of curiosity. 

“She got cake and wine for your birthday. And yarn and clothes for me. Why not send her to get potion ingredients as well? The people watching things think so little of elves that their suspicions wouldn’t be roused.”

“True. What about other potions?” He now sounded almost enthused about the plan. “Most general healing potions are quite shelf-stable.”

“You think I can brew them?”

“I know you can, Miss Granger. And doing so could save many more worthy lives than mine.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, sir. What you’ve done matters a great deal, what you are doing  _ here _ matters. How would things be if they were left to the Carrows to run?”

The shudder than ran through him was visible. “Worse. Much worse.”

She closed the healing text she’d been reading, nodding firmly. “Can we go up to the study?”

He disillusioned her with a whispered spell, and they made their way through the false records room and into the staircase. They’d barely taken three steps, however, when the door at the bottom slammed open and a whimper echoed up the stairwell. Severus turned and stepped down, placing himself between her and whoever was coming up the stairs; they did not have time for her to return to the lab, as footsteps were quickly approaching. 

She held her breath as she watched the Headmaster draw a deep one, spine straightening and drawing up to his full height. Though she couldn’t see his face, hiding against the wall behind him, she could guess at his stony expression. Almost unconsciously, she rested the flat of her palm against his shoulder blade, feeling a shiver run through him before she caught herself and moved it away as if burned.

“Headmaster! We caught her in the halls!”

Alecto Carrow twisted the arm of a small Ravenclaw, who couldn’t have been older than a Second Year. The girl whimpered, and it appeared her shoulder was dislocated.

“Quick work. It is only...ten minutes past curfew.”

“She was running, too, out of the library,” Amycus spat out. 

“Well then. Bring her up.” He turned slowly, giving Hermione time to get ahead of him. Thankfully, the group made a clatter going up the stairs, as the Carrows spoke over one another, decrying the student’s behavior and the punishments awaiting her, even sending a few stinging jinxes her way as the girl began to sob. No one noticed an extra set of footsteps, or the imperfect doorway to the Headmaster’s Office that was quickly thrown open.

She practically ran into the room and flattened herself back against the usually unnoticed door to the Headmaster's Study. The others filed in, and she hardly dared to breathe. 

The Headmaster settled in behind the massive desk, glowering at the trio in front of him. “Sit, Miss Hinson.”

The girl dropped into the lone chair like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, but she hardly made a noise as she cranked her left arm in her right, trying to alleviate the pressure on her injured shoulder. The two Carrows remained standing, flanking her chair.

“There were a whole bunch of them, congregating in the library, in direct violation of the rules. But she was the last one, running—” began Alecto, but the Headmaster silenced her with a raised hand.

“I would like to hear what Miss Hinson has to say for herself.” His voice was cold and smooth as ice. If Hermione hadn’t realized he was on the student’s side, she’d have been terrified for her. “Why was the daughter of the head of St. Mungo’s Emergency Department doing something so foolish as running in the hallways after curfew?”

Amycus Carrow made a strangled noise as Alecto’s eyes went wide, and both paled a bit, though with their pasty skin it was rather hard to tell.

“We were studying,” the girl managed, voice trembling and eyes cast down on her scuffed Mary Janes. “I was leaving with everyone else, but had to return a book.”

“That does not explain the running.” His voice was still icy, and he leaned back in the chair with his fingers steepled, watching not the girl, Hermione realized, but the Carrows.

“I was trying to catch up. It was close to curfew-“

“It was  _ after _ curfew you lying little brat!” Alecto seemed unable to contain the Cruciatus she sent at the student, who writhed in pain, crying out as the Muggle Studies teacher laughed. Hermione trembled, barely restraining herself from intervening.

“Enough, Madam.” The Headmaster cast a wordless jinx that left Alecto dropping her wand and frowning, but not daring to speak against him. “I believe you will recall that punishments are up to me, not professors.”

Both the Carrows looked deeply frustrated that they weren’t being allowed to simply crucio the poor girl where she sat, but said nothing. Hermione tried to control her breathing and simmering rage, so as to remain hidden. Miss Hinson, though, merely slumped in the chair with tears streaming down her face as if she was sure her punishment would be fatal.

“Come with me, Miss Hinson. So that you can see what the consequences of such foolish actions as running in the dark can result in, you will be spending evenings this week assisting Madam Pomfrey.” Without another word, he escorted the student from the room, as the Carrows, who had been looking quite smug as the Headmaster had started speaking to her, stood gaping at one another for a moment.

Rather than following them out, though, Amycus snarled, “Check the desk.”

Hermione had to flatten herself back against the door again as Alecto nearly brushed against her disillusioned robes. Thankfully, though, they were both so fixated on their self-appointed task, that neither of them noticed the ripple. Though she was sure the desk had its own wards, Hermione muttered a tripping jinx at both of them, sending the pair of them crashing into one another as they approached the desk from different directions, swearing and hexing one another.

“What the fuck are you doing you fucking twat?”

“Me? You couldn’t even walk around the fucking desk without falling over, you stupid bitch.”

They grappled and fumbled for nearly a minute as Hermione struggled not to laugh at them; if they weren’t such wretched excuses for human beings who were torturing students, they’d be ridiculous caricatures. She whispered another charm, turning the floor under them slippery as ice, enjoying their struggle to right themselves. But there was only so much she could do to prevent them from actually getting their hands on the desk.

She needn’t have worried though--she’d been correct in her assumption that the desk was protected with hexes and wards of its own. Amycus, who’d reached for the drawer on the right, leapt back as if he’d been electrified, and Alecto, who’d grabbed a ledger off the top shrieked in horror as her hands turned bright red, and apparently heated up as well if her cries for her brother to case a cooling charm were any indication.

Naturally, that didn’t work as expected--it only seemed to make the burning worse. Amycus ignored her and reached for the middle drawer of the desk. That seemed to have a sticking charm on it, but did eventually open. It flew open, expelling a flurry of quills that flapped around like pixies; Hermione thought the Weasley twins would have been delighted to see it.

The two of them were determined, she had to admit, and kept trying to open drawers and pick up papers, but seemed to be thwarted at every turn. They shrieked and cursed, tried brute force and blasting charms, but were unable to open any of the other drawers. They were still making a horrible mess of it, as papers and quills and hexes flew through the air, the portraits of past headmasters looking on in a mix of horror and amusement, when the door to the office swung back open, a shockingly calm Severus Snape standing framed in it. 

“Just what do the two of you think you’re doing?”

The two of them snapped upright and turned to face the Headmaster. Hermione curbed her impulse to send another tripping jinx their way, though Alecto almost toppled over turning to face him anyway. She noticed that as he took in the mess that the office had become, his eye quickly flicked to her disillusioned form at the door and his shoulders squared. 

“Well?” His voice was icier now than it had been addressing the student, as if he was taking the opportunity to pour out all his frustration at the situation on the Carrows, where it belonged.

“I was looking for a quill,” claimed Alecto.

“You seem to have found them in spades. Begone with the both of you. Try not to break any more pureblooded children of important officials on your way back to your quarters.”

He brandished his wand, which sent them jumping and scrambling for the door, but all his attentions were directed at the mess that had been made of his office. Within seconds, the flying quills had all vanished and papers had righted themselves into the tidy piles they’d been in before the two Death Eaters had begun their rummaging. His hands passed across the drawers of the desk, as if checking the wards on them, but made no move to open any of them. The single open drawer, out of which all the quills had flown, was quickly put to rights, closed, and warded again. 

Only then did he send a spell at the door to the office, and take a deep breath.

“My boy--” began the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, who’d watched everything with the same expression he’d watched the antics of the Weasley twins from the head table, but he was swiftly cut off by Severus.

“I don’t want to hear it, Albus,” he snapped, and strode to the door to the study with barely enough time for her to step to the side so he could open it. She slipped in just after him, grateful he’d let the door swing wide behind him before swirling to close it with a resounding slam.

He wasted no time in casting Finite on the disillusionment, and she felt his magic wash over her as she was revealed. She could sense his eyes on her, looking her up and down, as he asked, “Are you all right, Miss Granger?”

“I’m perfectly fine, sir. They never had any idea I was there. Is Miss Hinson safe at the Infirmary?”

“Yes,” he said, seeming to deflate from the imposing headmaster to the weary man as he crossed the room and collapsed in one of the chairs. “Pop--Madam Pomfrey was livid, naturally. But she will have the poor girl put to rights by morning, and will make sure she’s safe, this week at least.”

“Good. They’ve been targeting the Ravenclaws coming from the library?”

It looked as if he was resisting the urge to roll his eyes at her, as if he would ever do such a thing. “They’re targeting  _ everyone _ , myself included. No one is safe, not even the Slytherins, not even the children of Ministry officials or other Death Eaters.” 

She briefly patted his shoulder as she passed his chair to sit herself, and felt the tension quivering through him. “Tea?”

“No, I think I need something stronger.” He summoned a bottle from a stand that had been untouched since she’d arrived, and poured two tumblers, giving her half the portion as his. After taking a sip, he asked, “What happened while I was gone?”

“They were trying to get into your desk,” she said, taking a very careful sip of the firewhisky. “Obviously, your wards and hexes prevented that. I sent a few subtle jinxes their way to delay them, but it didn’t seem prudent to do anything more to try and stop them, especially once I saw that the desk had its own protections. I quite enjoyed the quills.”

Rather than the smirk she’d hoped to draw from him, he merely took another drink. “This won’t deter them. And the damage they cause will be greater than anything your little friends did trying to find the sword.”

“Is there anything to find?” 

“Not unless Albus’s portrait choses to speak. But the painting would let itself be destroyed before speaking to them. There is nothing at all to prove what I am.”

“There is,” she said quietly. “I’m here. You will get through this. I can testify to what you’ve done, how you’ve helped students like Miss Hinson. I’m a witness, Se--sir.”

The look he gave her was curious, eyes dark and deep in the firelight. But he didn’t quite look hopeless.

“Miss Hinson is a witness, too. She might be terrified now, but she can testify to the fact that rather than let those two horrible people do whatever they wanted to her, you personally escorted her to the infirmary and put her in Madam Pomfrey’s care.”

“Testify? Are you working on your law degree as well as your NEWTs now?”

She shrugged. “Well, it seemed prudent to do a little reading, while I had some time. The entire wizarding legal code is on the third shelf over there. It’s self-updating, which is quite helpful--”

Then, for the first time she’d ever heard, he did bark out a laugh, though there was nothing joyous in his tone. It was so unexpected she jumped, firewhisky sloshing in the tumbler. 

“If things play out the way you think they will, Miss Granger, you will become a formidable witch with better options open to her than an arithmancy apprenticeship.”

“But I want to study arithmancy,” she began to protest, then snapped her jaw shut, taking his statement for the compliment it was. “Thank you.”

“Go read in your room, please,” he said after finishing the swig of firewhisky and moving to his desk. 

She saw him reach for the quill and parchment there, and acquiesced without a word, simply gathered a few books and headed for the door. Before leaving, she paused, trying to figure out what else she could say to reassure him, or make things a little easier for him, when it was obvious the toll running Hogwarts was taking on him. Rather than saying anything to him, though, when she entered her room, she immediately called Tilly.

“Can you bring a cup of hot chocolate up for the Headmaster, please? With dark chocolate if you have it.”

“Of course.” The elf nodded, clearly having noticed his state herself, then popped away after a deep bow. 

As much as she tried to concentrate on reading, the adrenaline coursing through her veins after the incident with the Carrows wouldn’t allow her to relax or concentrate. Instead, she ended up taking a long bath, then falling asleep with a volume of Wizengamot education statutes open on her stomach.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole spring timeline of events is a little confusing, so I just picked a vaguely plausible date that worked with my timeline for the events of Malfoy Manor.

One evening in early March, the Headmaster joined her in the study quite late one evening, looking even more worn and exhausted than usual. She watched as he wearily made his way over to one of the chairs, then sent a cup of tea his way. He had been out of the school since mid-afternoon, when he’d quickly brought her up from the lab, then apparated out of his office with great haste.

He gratefully sipped from the cup, not quite meeting her eyes. “The Dark Lord has requested a tour of the school to discuss how things should proceed here.”

“I see.” 

It wasn’t especially surprising news, given that last week he’d apparently been seen at the Ministry, and they were both sure he was getting regular reports from the Carrows and some of the students as well as the official ones from Severus.

“He did not specify a date. You mentioned there is one date that would be particularly fortuitous?”

Nibbling at her lip, she asked, “There might be, if you can put him off for a couple weeks.”

He gestured at her neck with one wiggling finger, and she nodded. “Most likely I can delay him a little. Do you know the specific date and time he needs to be away from the Manor?”

“March 26th.” She would never forget the date; it was burned into her skin as surely as the silvery scars from the Cruciatus. “Late afternoon.”

A deft flick of his wand summoned a calendar, which he consulted. “Duelling Club is on Thursdays. Persuading him to come at lunch and remain to watch some students being cursed might do.”

“There’s still a Duelling Club?”

“Yes, but not as you remember it.”

“I remember you wiping the floor with Professor Lockhart,” she said with a genuine smile, one of the first she’d really felt in weeks.

“That was hardly a duel. You would have been a significantly greater challenge than Professor Lockhart.” The corners of his mouth did tick up then, just a hair, and she was glad to see it. But then he continued, “It is run by Amycus Carrow. Everything short of Avada is permitted.”

“But--”

“Stopping them would be tantamount to admitting myself softer than a Hufflepuff on Valentine’s Day and uncommitted to producing wizards and witches ready to fight for his cause.”

“That will work in favor of him wanting to stay and watch, then.”

“Most likely. He does enjoy watching an unevenly matched, unfair duel.” He sighed. “Perhaps I can select a few students to match up, under the guise of showing off their skills.”

His head fell back against the chair and he closed his eyes. The idea of forcing students, even those who had been causing harm to others all year long, clearly pained him. She knew he’d rather take the dueling hits himself--which gave her an idea. 

“What if they duel you?”

“Me?” His head snapped up and he glared at her. “Why would I--”

“Because you could go easy on them but make it look good, just like you flattened Lockhart with nothing more than Expelliarmus. And that would be however many fewer students hurt.”

He sighed again. “A point well taken. And it would give another reason for delaying the visit a couple weeks--we’re preparing a special event for him.”

“You apparated from your office earlier,” she said, seeming to switch topics, but still pondering the sequence of events that would take place that day. 

“Being Headmaster comes with certain privileges, including apparition within the castle and on the grounds.”

“Does he know that?”

“I do not believe so. Though the things he knows that one does not expect are often surprising. But very few people have ever known, outside of the headmasters themselves.”

“So that will be another means of delay, if he has to travel back to the gates to depart.”

He was nodding. “Yes. How late does he have to remain here?”

She thought back to their flight from Malfoy Manor, tried to remember details that had been clouded by pain and then grief over the loss of Dobby. “Not late. It was still light when we got to--”

“Don’t tell me. I do not need to know the specifics. But if we plan for him to be here for a dinner feast after the duels, that will more than suffice.” He drummed his fingers on his chin. “I will make the Carrows plan it all. Alecto can plan the feast, and Amycus will select his best students to duel with me.”

“Why was Draco home?” she asked suddenly, after having been nodding along in agreement with what he was planning.

“What?” 

“I thought Draco was home on spring holiday. He was there when it happened. They brought him in to see us, and he—he wouldn’t identify us.”

“Easter break begins that Saturday—the train leaves after breakfast.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Narcissa’s birthday is the spring equinox, March 21st. Perhaps he will request leave to return early, as I’m certain the Dark Lord will want to make sure his hosts are properly recognized, especially when such on such an auspicious date as one of the old High Holidays.”

She furrowed her brow. “I got the impression he was only there to punish the Malfoys. Why would he—“

“I can assure it will not be the type of birthday celebration to which you are accustomed, Miss Granger. I doubt it will even be as pleasant for the true believing Death Eaters as mine was.”

Swallowing, she nodded sharply, not really wanting to know and suddenly grateful they hadn’t broken the taboo a few days earlier. “Will you be in any shape to duel a few days later?”

“I may not even be required to attend. My position here has had one single advantage, in getting me out of many of the less savory day to day activities.”

She didn’t have a response to that, merely smiled at him, then offered: “Do you need to practice?”

“Practice dueling?” There was the hint of a smile on his voice, even as his face remained staid. “Here with you?”

“Why not? I certainly could use the practice, and maybe we could work out which spells would look most impressive while causing the least actual damage.”

Reluctantly, he’d agreed. And they put their plan into motion. Or at least he had, suggesting a date that would not interfere with what were sure to be birthday celebrations for the Dark Lord’s hosts. And the Carrows had gleefully taken on the roles of organizers of the dueling display and the feast to follow. In a true stroke of fortune, Severus had even gotten Alecto to agree to duel him as the finale. It was unlikely they’d get that far before he was summoned to Malfoy Manor, but the very idea gave the Headmaster a great deal of satisfaction. 

All the while, Hermione remained sequestered in the laboratory and the study. Their practices became one of the highlights of her stay at Hogwarts. The activity brought a little color to his face, faint pink to tinting his high cheekbones, and his hair pulled nearly back in a que emphasized it, making him look unexpectedly—almost handsome. The thought shocked her for a moment, the first time it flitted through her head as she stood across the room from her, wand at the ready; it distracted her enough that he landed a good stinging jinx on her before she jolted back into the moment. 

The force of her shield spell when his next curse hit was enough to force him back a step, and she saw delight in his eyes, as he sent a wordless Levicorpus her way. She dodged it easily, for she’d found that while his magic was stronger, she was more nimble, and used that to her advantage. And he’d allowed her to figure that out, as they worked out showy spells and tested their strengths, which alleviated some of the anxiety she’d felt at having a wand pointed at her. The fact that he’d sent nothing more dangerous than a stinging jinx her way unless he knew she was ready was another reason—he wanted an adversary to challenge him and treated her as if she was capable when she focused.

She used the same icing charm she’d used with the Carrows, throwing off his block by aiming at the floor, and sending him off balance. As she was sending a Tarantallegra at him, though, she got in a good Knockback that sent her flying into the bookshelf and effectively ending their duel. 

“Will he notice you’re not casting any Unforgiveables?”

He surprised her by offering her a hand up in an almost collegial fashion, as he shook his head. “He’s never seen me formally duel. And as you have noticed, I always duel wordlessly.”

“Except Lockhart.” She straightened her robes and smiled up at him. 

“That wasn’t a duel, that was making a point.” He summoned water for both of them and they made their way to the fireside chairs. 

“Won’t he expect...blood or something?”

He sighed as he sat. “He will. But unlike Potter, I can wield Sectumsempra with enough precision to cause injury without serious risk.”

“Even in a duel?”

“I’ve done it before, against more skilled opponents than students.”

She thought of George’s ear, wishing suddenly she had a few of their flashy tricks up her sleeve to help him. “What about something fiery? It would look dangerous but maybe with the eighth spell work…” 

As she lost herself in thought, she was unaware of him studying her, head canted just slightly and eyes narrowed a fraction, hiding the warmth in them as he watched her. Then his brows shot up as she suddenly pointed her wand at him.

“Orocarcerus!”

Sparkling golden ropes streamed from her wand and wrapped around him, binding him up into something that looked like a filigreed work of art. He scowled, and broke the ropes off immediately, merely by flexing his arms.

“Gold alone is a weak metal. And such a gilded display would hardly be what would be expected of me.” He drew his wand and rotated it carefully, until a line of flame emerged, red at first, then white-hot, and giving off flaring sparks. It coiled across the room, surrounding her chair as she sat, terrified to move lest she be burned. The rug smoked a bit as the flame got close and singed it, but it always stayed just far enough away from her to be safe. Then in a blink it was gone, and he sat across from her, looking smug.

“That’s—it wasn’t fiendfyre?”

“No, though it is intentionally a close visible approximation.”

“Can you teach me?” Certainly such a spell would be useful, for intimidation if they were threatened at least.

It felt as if he were sizing her up as he looked at her. “I can, but not this evening. We should be somewhere far less likely to be damaged if it gets out of control. Perhaps one evening in the lab.”

“Speaking of the lab…”

He raised a brow, looking much like his old self, had the old Severus Snape been the sort to joke with her. “What have you melted now?”

“You know I haven’t been working on any experimental mixes this week. But I was thinking the lab might be the safest place for me during Vol—You-Know-Who’s visit.”

She’d given the matter a lot of thought, and was eager to avoid any close encounters, which would not only risk her life, but Severus’s and that of practically every student currently at Hogwarts. No one knew it existed, except the two of them and Tilly. And she could lose herself in brewing for the day, to distract herself from the chaos that she knew would be happening in the castle and world at large. 

“It probably is,” he agreed. “But if he gets word that Potter has been captured, I have to depart with him for the Manor. You may be there for a long while, for his wrath at your escape will be ferocious.”

“But surely not at you?”

“I will not be the most likely target—he will be furious at the Malfoys and whoever else is there. But he will blame me for exactly what we are counting on this plan to do—keeping him away from the Manor and delaying his return.”

“Oh.” She had considered that there would be ramifications for the Malfoys—and hopefully Bellatrix—but not for him.

“I will be fine, Miss Granger. I was only pointing this out to emphasize that you may be trapped down in the lab, possibly overnight.”

The lab was a generous space, but not an especially comfortable one to sleep. And she would be dangerously isolated if anything did go badly wrong with Voldemort’s visit. She wanted to be in the study, ready to help him in the event he came out more injured than expected. Then an idea came to her.

“Tilly could bring me up, couldn’t she?”

That suggestion seemed to stump him. “I do not know. The only person the wards will allow to apostate on the grounds is the headmaster. But all the elves apparate freely. I doubt whether they’ve ever tried to side-along someone. That would be incredibly dangerous.”

“Tilly?” She was already calling the elf before he finished speaking.

As soon as the elf appeared, she looked suspicious, glancing between the two of them. “Tilly was called?”

“Can house-elves apparate someone alongside them, within Hogwarts?”

The little elf’s eyes bugged, and she shook her head violently. “Oh no, it is forbidden. If an elf tried, they would be instantly freed, and the person would splinch.”

“Oh,” she said sadly.

“Thank you, Tilly. We’ll have no more need of you this evening.”

The elf nodded and was gone with a pop.

“If it’s late enough, I could disillusion myself and come up. It’s not as good, but no one would see me.”

“Except all the former headmasters.”

“After midnight?”

“No. You will either remain in your bedchamber or in the laboratory until I have returned.”

“The lab, then.”

He nodded and picked up a book, seeming to end their conversation. 

But she wasn’t done. “You can apparate to the lab if you need to, right, sir?”

“That will hardly be necessary.”

“But you could?” she pressed.

He sighed. “I could. Now don’t you have some Charms revisions on your schedule this week?”

She smiled and shook her head. “Oh no, I finished all of my Charms work last week.”

He grumbled at her, but they settled into an amiable peace for the rest of the evening. Both of them knew it was to be a calm before the tempest. And she knew that March 26th would only be the beginning. 

  
  
  



	12. Chapter 12

The rest of March seemed to pass in a blur of worry and preparations. Even from the isolation of her room and the Headmaster’s Study, she would feel the tension rising in the castle, as if the wards were still speaking to her. She spent an afternoon watching PepperUp simmer and wondering what the Headmaster felt through them, but the time never presented itself to ask--that night he returned with word that Draco had requested early departure for spring break, so that he could attend his mother’s birthday festivities; an invitation arrived for Severus later that afternoon.

“I must go,” he said, staring down at the elaborate calligraphy of the invitation. “You will be on your own here for at least a day, perhaps longer.”

“How can you leave the school that long?” She knew that Dumbledore had, of course, but those were different times and circumstances.

“Minerva will be in charge. The school will be safer for it, as I am forced to celebrate at the right hand of the Dark Lord.” His face looked at once bleak and blank.

“Will she have to contend with the Carrows?” 

“If this were actually Narcissa’s party, they would not be invited. But I believe she won’t be given much discretion with the guest list.”

She’d wanted to reassure him, but merely nodded and changed the subject, watching the stress ease as she asked about different methods of incorporating Murtlap Essence into other potions. As much as she enjoyed their conversations, to her surprise he seemed to appreciate them just as much. And so she did her best to distract him with talk, knowing the celebration and the visit of Voldemort to Hogwarts were out of her hands; providing him some measure of relief from the stress he was under, was the most she could do to help. So she did, as often as he would join her.

When he’d left her for the Malfoy’s, alone in the rooms that had become her home and refuge, he was dressed in his best formal robes and looking deeply unhappy as he departed. She occupied herself as she had been, with morning yoga and knitting and reading. She’d begun working on a blanket to occupy her hands as she read in the evenings, knitting and purling along with the differences in healing stabbing curses versus slicing hexes. 

That was what she was doing, ensconced in a chair by the fire, when he returned, slipping quietly in through the door from the office. She looked up at him, still in his fine dress robes, now looking well-worn and rumpled, his face exhausted and even paler than usual. But he wouldn’t meet her eye, and didn’t come close to her seat by the fire as he crossed the room, heading straight for the door to his personal quarters. Even from across the room, though, she caught the whiff of alcohol and...well, she’d spent six months in a tent with two teenage boys, she knew  _ that _ scent, too, and wrinkled her nose. If this were a novel and not real life, she’d say he smelled like he’d spent a week in a brothel, and she watched him curiously as he disappeared through the vestibule door. 

As she stared at the door, book hovering in front of her and needles still, she decided she didn’t want to know; what he did, voluntarily or because he had to, was none of her business. If he returned to the room, she resolved not to ask, only to make sure he was well. So she summoned Tilly for tea--a pot of mint seemed in order--and went back to her knitting and reading.

It was nearly half an hour later when he returned to the study, freshly showered and dressed in his more habitual black. His hair was still damp and his face still slightly pink, and the crisp, clean scent scent of lemon about him. It was a drastic improvement, even if he still looked exhausted. She put down her knitting and fixed him a cup of tea, sending it floating over to the chair where he sank, finally meeting her eyes with gratitude and some deep sentiment she couldn’t quite identify, but made her blush a bit.

“Thank you, Miss Granger,” his long fingers wrapped around the cup, and he inhaled the steam rising from it before taking a sip. The lines on his face settled then, looking a little less tense, though nothing could simply erase the dark circles under his eyes. 

“Are you all right, sir?”

“I am physically unharmed.” He took another sip of the tea, closing his eyes, as if trying to block out all the other ways one could not be all right.

She wanted to ask about those, but knew full well he would not talk about it with her. Holding her tongue on that count, she simply answered, “I’m glad.” 

He finished his cup of tea without further comment, though she could feel him watching her as she worked. Only after he refilled his tea did he speak.

“The Dark Lord looks forward to his visit here two days hence.” Then he sighed.

“The school feels...it’s like it knows. Or is holding its breath in anticipation.”

“You can feel the school?” He looked at her curiously.

She looked down long enough to adjust a stitch, then met his gaze. “I think so. Since you had me touch the door after modifying the Headmaster’s wards.”

“Curious.” He took another sip of tea, looking as if he was turning that information over in his head, before he tacked back to the upcoming visit. “I will meet him at the gates at two on Thursday. You will need to be down at the lab sooner than that, in case he arrives early--it would not at all surprise me if he did.”

“I can go down at the normal time. It’s fine, really. What’s important is that he will be here, and not there--that’s keeping me, us, alive.”

His gaze was intense, but he said nothing else as he finished his second cup of tea and retired for the night, leaving her alone again with her knitting and reading.

The next night, he did not join her at all, though she could hear him through the office door, faintly muffled. But she clearly recognized the voices of Professors McGonagall and Flitwick, strident and angry, and also the mellow tones of Albus Dumbledore’s portrait saying his piece. She wished she’d been able to hear that better, but the meeting seemed to break up soon after that. After barely half an hour’s peace, the voices of the Carrows carried in from the office, brassy and loud enough to make her cringe from a room away. That meeting seemed to drag on forever, to the point that she’d long stopped listening and returned her focus to her Transfiguration reading; the sudden silence from the office was a shock to her when it came. But it continued, without the Headmaster joining her, though she read until nearly midnight before retiring.

In the morning, he was waiting for her in the study, looking over papers at the desk, dark and dour as she’d ever seen him. He didn’t greet her, but rose and escorted her to the door without a word. But before disillusioning her, he stopped and faced her; after a moment’s hesitation, he put his hands on her shoulders, and looked her square in the eyes. 

“I hope that today plays out as it did when you lived through it the first time. Evenso, I do not know how long you will be in the lab before I can retrieve you. Tilly will see to your needs today, and if things go truly pear-shaped, will bring a portkey to you.”

“A portkey?” 

“An unregistered one. It will take you to my home outside Manchester. Do not linger there, should you have to flee.”

“Understood, sir.” She gave him a sharp nod, and wished she could offer some reassurance or comfort to him. As his hands moved from her shoulders, she caught his left in her right, almost a handshake. “Good luck today. I’ll see you later in the lab.”

For a second, it looked like he wanted to say something more to her, but he merely squeezed her hand before releasing her, then cast the disillusionment spell over her. They silently walked down the stairs as they did every morning; he did not pause at the door in the alcove. She broke off and stood a moment, by the door, watching as he disappeared down the curve in the stairway. Only then did she open the heavy door and move through the records room that had appeared, on through to the laboratory. 

She did her best to occupy herself productively through the course of the day. Enough Blood Replenisher to help heal a small army, as it would need to do--she’d wondered, as she sat by Severus’s bedside after the battle, how a school infirmary had been able to treat so many. At the time, she’d assumed supplies had been sent over from St. Mungo’s but now she knew better. It would be ready and waiting.

Something ominous thrummed through the wards, causing her to gasp. She stepped back from the brewing bench and cast Tempus. Just before two. 

Voldemort had just arrived, and crossed the Hogwarts boundaries. The castle was not pleased, and she had the feeling that left to its own devices, it would make that fact known. That he had been invited in by the current Headmaster might complicate that, though. She was intensely curious about how the afternoon would go, but knew it would be many long hours before she was likely to find out.

She turned back to the list she’d drawn up, checking off Blood Replenisher and looking to see which would be easiest for her to brew while not wholly focused on the task at hand. A general purpose Healing Potion was easy enough, and would certainly be needed. She selected a number 3 brass cauldron, then began to gather her ingredients. As the cauldron heated up, she began powdering the dried dragon liver and let her thoughts wander.

There would be a tour of the school first, then a meeting with the Headmaster--she shuddered at the very idea of him passing up the stairs just beyond the doorway where she was working--then the Duelling Club at five, followed by the feast scheduled for seven. She knew they would not make it that far in the schedule; it would be surprising if they made it through more than one round of duelling before word came of the trio’s capture. 

If she was lucky, Severus would arrive at that point and bring her up to her rooms; if she was unlucky, Voldemort would make Severus, the Carrows, and his other supporters at the school accompany him to Malfoy Manor and she would be here for hours. That seemed like the far more likely scenario to her, as Voldemort would surely think that with Harry captured, he’d won, and would want all his supporters to join him in his ultimate victory. When that didn’t occur, she feared what fury might be unleashed, and who might be its target. 

Though her experience would suggest that Severus Snape survived until the final battle, and beyond, which meant it could not be so catastrophic for him as she feared. Rationally, he would not be the target of anger at their escape, but she knew little about Voldemort was rational--and certainly not his anger.

Only when the cauldron had heated red, ready for ingredients to be added, did she refocus herself. The time passed quickly as she lost herself in the potion brewing, creating not just the Healing Potion but also several pots of Bruise Paste and a batch of PepperUp before Tilly arrived with her dinner. It was a portion of what was to be served in the Great Hall--beef Wellington, roasted potatoes, smashed peas, on a plate large enough to have been a serving platter rather than a dinner plate. She could only pick at it, forcing herself to eat all of the peas at least, knowing that if she was still here for dinner, everyone had gone to Malfoy Manor. 

On the bright side, that meant that their plan had probably worked--Voldemort had been here and not there, giving them time to escape before he returned. As she moved a wedge of potato around on her plate, she wondered why the odd feeling in the wards persisted; Voldemort had gone, so the school should no longer feel so wary. Yet they were tied not just to the school itself, but the Headmaster too. He had gone along to Malfoy Manor, and was still in danger from whatever was occurring there, she realized. That meant the plan  _ had _ worked as intended; if there had been celebration amongst the Death Eaters and no risk to the Headmaster, it would have meant they’d failed. 

That thought was almost enough to spur her to push the Wellington away mostly uneaten, relief coursing through her. He was in danger, yes, but things were proceeding as they had when she lived through them, which meant things were going correctly and she hadn’t caused an anomaly. Finishing her pumpkin juice, she returned to the brewing bench and began cleaning up, feeling lighter than she had since they began planning Voldemort’s visit to the school. Something in the wards must have sensed her relief, or else Severus was out of danger, because that lingering feeling of ominousness eased as well. By the time she transfigured one of the wooden benches into an armchair and settled in with  _ Advanced Arithmanic Theory, _ she felt almost normal, if such a thing could be possible while hiding in a secret Hogwarts lab.

Slouched in her transfigured chair, book sliding off her lap to the floor, she fell asleep waiting for Severus Snape’s return, to find out how the day had played out.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even more thanks than usual to my beta, Ralina, this week, for pointing out the mistakes I made in fixing my own mistakes! This chapter and the next read much better because of her!

The sound of gentle rapping on the wood workbench woke her with a start. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, and felt disoriented and sore--she should have thought to transfigure the chair into a chaise or a couch, which would have been much more comfortable. Righting herself with a wince, she looked Severus over. He looked tense, but appeared no worse for the wear. 

“Miss Granger,” he greeted her. “It is nearly six. I should either return you to your room for the day, or you should remain here all day again. I must be seen at breakfast.”

“Of course, sir.” She stood, and cast Finite on the chair, then slid the work stool back over to the counter. “Yesterday went well, then?”

“As well as we could have hoped, given the circumstances.”

“You are all right?” She looked him over once more, now that she was more alert. He was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and looked exhausted, with greasy limp hair and baggy, dark circles under his eyes.

“I am unharmed. Others were not as fortunate.” He paused and disillusioned her as they reached the door. “I will speak to you later, after I have tended to the school. There is, I believe, much to discuss.”

She started to nod, then realized he couldn’t see her. “Of course, sir.” It had been inevitable, of course, as much as she wished she could keep quiet and let everything play out as it needed to. But she also knew she wouldn’t even be able to position herself to help without his assistance, so he needed to know. The battle was less than six weeks away, and they could prepare for it.

He led her up, through the Headmaster’s Office and into the study, then removed her disillusionment. Rather than returning to his rooms, as she was doing, he sat down at the desk with a heavy sigh. 

“Can I be of any help?” She lingered in the doorway, hoping he’d take her up on her offer.

“Rest today, but think on all you remember from the battle you say is coming. There is one more day to get these students through before break; when they are gone, we can begin formulating plans to best prepare the castle for that.”

“Get some rest yourself.” If he’d been one of the boys, she’d have walked across the room and hugged him, reassuring him it would all work out in the end. But she was absolutely certain that such a gesture would be unwelcome, if not rebuffed with hostility. So instead she gave him a sad smile and returned to her quarters. She wasn’t that tired, since while she hadn’t slept especially well, she had at least  _ slept, _ unlike him. 

Instead, she took a long hot shower, taking the time to thoroughly condition her curls, letting the steaming water and vanilla scent ease some of her stress. After her shower, she decided she’d work a bit for the morning, since she was wide awake now, and plan for an afternoon nap. Tea, toast, and fruit were waiting for her in the quiet, empty study—the Headmaster was surely well into his day by now. 

At some point she heard the Carrows whinging in his office, clearly still recovering from the day before. No clear words made it through the door, but he seemed to have even less patience than usual for them and firmly sent them on their way with a slammed door echoing after them. Then all was quiet, allowing her to transfigure a chair once more, and doze off for a light nap.

Or at least she thought it would be a light nap; she’s been more tired than she felt, and only woke at tea time to find Headmaster Snape sitting behind his study desk.

“Did you keep Potter and Weasley awake with that snoring?” he asked by way of greeting. 

Blushing, she fumbled to right herself, hair falling in her face and blanket trapping one of her legs. “I don’t—I wasn’t—was I snoring?” 

“Only lightly,” he answered, pouring a cup of tea and sending it her way. 

She accepted it gratefully, the muzzy post-nap feeling fading as the caffeine took effect. Only when she’d finished the cup and poured herself a second did she ask, “So what happened yesterday?”

He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, as if needing to gather his resolve to speak. Then he launched into a tale of a day that had gone, if not  _ well, _ at least gone almost precisely according to plan. That, she supposed, was the benefit of having Severus Snape as her co-planner. 

Voldemort had arrived almost precisely on time, as she’d felt through the wards—she’d interrupted him to tell him about that and he’d looked intrigued, but had put off the conversation about that to another time. Instead he’d gone on to describe the tour of the school, during which Voldemort had expounded on the other, darker improvements that could be made to the school—mandatory corporal punishments for the smallest infractions; the dissolution of Gryffindor house; moving the Slytherins out of the dungeons and into that tower, so that the dungeons could be returned to their original punitive purposes; and full-fledged studies in the Dark Arts, from the first day of their magical educations. 

She’d been unable to stop the shudder that ran through her body. The Headmaster had looked distressed at the thought, as well, taking another long, slow breath, as if gathering the fortitude to continue his tale. He poured himself another cup of tea, then proceeded to explain how they’d barely begun with the duelling when their Dark Marks had begun to burn, and an elf had arrived from Malfoy Manor, bearing the urgent news of their capture.

Thankfully, he’d managed to keep the knowledge of his ability to Apparate from anywhere within the grounds to himself. Instead, they’d all marched down to the gates in a joyous, anticipatory riot, the Carrows practically dancing with glee and Voldemort looking smugly pleased. They’d all apparated at nearly the same time to the front lawn of Malfoy Manor, where chaos had broken loose. It had been less than five minutes since they’d escaped thanks to Dobby. That was when things had taken a turn for the worse, and rage at the near-miss of Potter had been taken out on everyone present. 

“Next time you see Bellatrix, I fear she will be twice as vicious as she was this time,” he concluded.

“Difficult as that might be to imagine, if everything continues to play out as it has—as it did—I have very little to worry about in that front. Molly takes care of her.”

For the first time since she’d met him, Severus looked truly pleased. “I hope I have the chance to see that.”

Hermione had to look away then, shaking her head. It took everything she had to choke out, “No, you...you weren’t there when it happened. Happens?”

He studied her quietly, as if he already knew more than she was saying. “We need to talk about what happens. If there is to be a battle here, I need to prepare the castle.”

“Right,” she said, nodding sharply, already shifting metal gears and trying to streamline the chain of events in her mind. “We break into Gringott’s to get the cup from the Lestrange vault—“

“You do  _ what?” _

“I polyjuice myself as her, with a hair I got while we were captive at Malfoy Manor.”

He was shaking his head, but there was almost a smile on his face, again.

“We break out on the dragon guarding the vault and eventually get to Hogsmeade the night of May 1st, and come in via the tunnel from the Hog’s Head.”

He glowered at her. “Tunnel from the Hog’s Head? Even then, the wards….” 

“I didn’t realize the tunnel was warded. Neville said Aberforth had been sending them food that way.”

“He was the brother of the Headmaster. The wards were probably set by Albus long ago to recognize and admit him to the school.”

“Then why did it let us in?”

For a moment he looked thoughtful. “I believe that by adding those rooms keyed to you, the castle has decided you are part of the Headmaster's wards.”

“Does...does that mean I can Apparate within the school?”

He frowned, looking thoughtful. “Perhaps. It would make your movement to and from the lab much simpler. Try it.”

“Really? I won’t splinch?”

“The anti-apparition wards in these offices are the same as in the rest of the school. If you fail, nothing at all will happen.”

Tentatively, she moved to the middle of the room and drew her wand. “I’ll just see if I can go to my bedroom?”

“A reasonable choice well within your capabilities,” he drawled, seeming to enjoy her nerves. 

Yet when she turned with deliberation, thinking it her destination, it was still a surprise when she felt that familiar, awful sensation of being squeezed through time and space. Before she could blink, she was standing at the door of her bed, looking out the window at the moonlit Black Lake. She almost let out a little squeal of delight, then remembered where she was—and then did it anyway, before rushing back into the study.

“It worked!”

“Obviously. But this does not help prepare the castle,” he looked annoyed, probably at her giddy delight. 

“But it gives me the means to do what I came to do, without outside help.”

He looked, for a second, as if he’d inquire about that again, but then shook his head and asked, “What happens after you sneak in from the Hog’s Head?”

“Right,” she said. “Ron and I go to the Chamber of Secrets to get the fangs from the basilisk, so we can destroy the rest of the Horcruxes.”

“What’s happened to the bloody sword?”

“We gave it to Griphook, in exchange for getting us into Gringott’s.”

There was a deep sigh, and he rubbed at his temples a bit, before gesturing at her to continue. 

“We use one of the fangs to destroy the cup from the vault. Harry went off to find Ravenclaw’s diadem.”

“The lost diadem is a Horcrux? How did he manage that?”

“No idea. But it’s in the Room-of-Missing-Things version of the Room of Requirement.”

“The—? No, just go on.” He shook his head.

“It was all a bit of a mad jumble,” she said, glossing over what had happened to him. Thankfully he had never asked for details. “Then it was just the snake, and...You-Know-Who himself. And Harry.”

“Was there anything at hand that seems unexpectedly useful, or protections you didn’t expect?”

“There were healing potions at hand, after. I’ve already started on those, for Tilly to deliver at an opportune moment to the Infirmary.”

“What else needs brewing?”

“Oh, I’ve got a schedule for that,” she answered, summoning a sheaf of papers to her, then duplicating one and sending it his way. “As you can see, I organized them by shelf stability and need. Clearly, the antivenin will have to wait to the week of.”

“How is that proceeding?”

It had been messy and difficult, but they’d finally improved on Dayal’s Viper Antidote, so that it worked more effectively against Nagini’s venom. It would take multiple doses, but it should do what she’d come back to do—save him. She would have to make sure he had a dose on him as well, along with the multiple doses of it and other potions to heal him. All she said to him was, “It’s ready to brew, once we have all the fresh ingredients.”

“Excellent work.” He went quiet then, seeming to ruminate. “The Dark Lord has asked me to begin work on the dungeons immediately, hoping to see them in use this school year. He will want appraisals of updates from me, but will also want them from his other sources at the school. I believe it would look best if I am often seen down there working on something, rather than up here in my offices.”

“What are you going to do?” She was concerned that if the Carrows were involved, the dungeons might actually have to be functional.

“Something blatant and noisy. Mostly move things around various storage rooms,” he shrugged. “It’s actually not a bad place from which to strengthen the defensive warding.”

“They won’t notice there’s not actually a dungeon?”

“Oh, I’ll empty a room, put in a few rusty manacles, tell them it takes time for the castle to form an oubliette because of the bedrock or some such nonsense.”

She snorted out a laugh at that. “All right. So it will probably be a while until I see you again. I’ll try to have enough of the other healing potions done that I can just focus on the antidote at that point.”

“Should you need help with anything, or need to contact me, either send Tilly, or leave a note on the desk before you retire for the night.”

Yawning, she nodded. “Understood. I’ll retire then, if you don’t mind.”

Even as she fell asleep, she was already planning out her brewing and preparation schedule for the next few weeks. There seemed to be so much to do, and so little time in which to get it done.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter--and the whole story, really, wouldn't be half as good without the help of my beta, Ralina.
> 
> I'm going to try sticking with a Tuesday/Saturday posting schedule for a few weeks; I think I've written far enough ahead it'll work out. And maybe I'll figure out how many total chapters this is going to be--it just keeps expanding!

After their conversation, she didn’t see him for over a week. At least now, she didn’t need him--now that she could apparate, she was able to go between the study and the lab without him having to be involved. It was almost lonely, after spending nearly every evening conversing with him, but she didn’t find it difficult to lose herself in brewing, stacking up crates of medicinal potions to help treat injuries after the coming battle. She could feel the changes in the wards, though, something shifting deep and powerful within them, humming stronger, so while they’d not had a chance to confer, she knew he’d been working at the defenses along with all his other duties.

But finally the time had come that they needed to begin working on the improved antivenin. Rather than leave him a note or treat Tilly like an owl, she instead sat up in the study quite late, a novel open in her lap and a cup of chamomile at her elbow. It was tempting to just doze off, after a long day in the lab and the evening spent studying Arithmancy. Instead, she’d found a copy of _Emma_ \--surely Dumbledore’s--and settled in to wait him out. And it was a long wait, though she heard him in his office as soon as the dinner hour ended. The Carrows came and stayed far longer than usual, before leaving with loud, nasty laughter than echoed through the doors. There was even muffled conversation that seemed to be between him and the portraits in the office. It was something she’d never thought to ask about, but surely they’d have some ideas on the school’s wards and security, having lived through prior volatile periods in history.

She drummed her fingers against the arm of the chair, and waited. Eventually, well past midnight, her determination paid off as Headmaster Snape walked through the office door. It took him a moment to realize she was there, and his face changed from the wary mask he’d clearly been putting on for everyone else to one of relief, the tension around his mouth easing, though far from a smile. Yet he said nothing, merely stopping three steps into the room to stare at her. 

There was no such reserve on her part. “We need to start preparations for the antivenin.”

“You’re not brewing it.”

“What do you mean?” Her voice raised, almost unconsciously.

“If you insist on trying to save me from Nagini with an experimental antivenin, I’m going to be the one to brew it. I’m not leaving that in the hands of a student.”

“I’m not a student.”

“You are not a Potions Master, either.”

“Fine,” she huffed. “But I want to help. And patent credit.”

“Patent--?”

She’d said it just to rile him, because it was rather fun seeing him flustered rather than angry or exhausted. This time, though, her laugh drew that sour expression back to his face. 

“This is my life you are so set on saving. It’s a fool’s errand, if the Dark Lord wants me dead, but I’d prefer to give myself the best chance possible.”

“I want that, too.” There was no doubt in her mind that she would be able to brew the improved antivenin herself, but there was much she could learn from spending time brewing with him. She summoned a paper from the desk, and waved it at him, finally enticing him to draw closer. “Here’s a list of some of the ingredients that need restocking before we can brew. And the witch hazel flower needs to start fermenting this Sunday if we want it ready to use by the 26th. Unless you can order it already fermented?” 

His eyes scanned down the brief list. “No, it only comes whole. You have to pulverize, grind, or ferment it as you need it.”

“Well then, all the reason to get it as soon as possible.”

“Right.” He tucked the list into a pocket of his robes, and turned away, clearly heading to bed. That was where she wanted to go as well, and began to clean up the tea and fold the blanket she’d had wrapped around her, no longer paying attention to him. But he surprised her when he paused in the doorway and quietly said, “Thank you, Miss Granger.”

He didn’t linger long enough to hear her response, and she stared after him for several minutes before gathering her thoughts and heading to her own room for the night.

The next evening he was waiting for her in the study again, quill in hand and a pile of papers on the desk. “I have procured the Time Turner you will find in my desk drawer.” Her eyes widened and her mouth gasped with a dozen questions, but he merely continued, “And I have sent Tilly for the ingredients we need. You should be able to begin work on their preparation tomorrow. I don’t know when...perhaps the weekend…” 

They both looked down at the pile of paperwork as he waved the black quill at it. “I can help again, sir. I’m mostly done with my reading and revisions, and can pick back up with those reports for you. Just leave what needs done.”

He heaved a great sigh and sat down the quill. “Her--” He cleared his throat and began again, “Miss Granger, had you not turned back to save me after the battle, I feel it unlikely I would have survived until then to be saved.”

His words left her speechless and her jaw hung open a moment before she could remember herself. She nodded, tamping down her initial impulse to rush forward and hug him. Instead, she shook her head. “You’re not giving yourself enough credit. Nothing would have turned out the way it had without you.”

Though he shook his head, he said nothing else, merely watched her as she retired for the evening. She would need to get what rest she could, between now and the final battle, so she was ready when her moment came.

  
  


There was much to do, and the days passed quickly as she wrote out Ministry reports for the Headmaster, and worked on brewing as many healing potions as she could. As the date of the final battle drew closer though, she couldn’t help but feel the anxiety over what was to become, making it more difficult to focus. Severus, too, began to look even more drawn and exhausted, eyes looking almost hollow in their sockets and lines etched deeply in his face. Even their time spent together was not the relief it’d once been to him, as he asked about strategy and defense, studying the history and wards of the castle.

She’d done what research she could on the subject, but being limited to what was available in the Headmaster’s Study had provided only partial information. Late one night, he’d gone down to the library, bringing back an entire stack of books on British wizarding history and the complex theories of warding. They poured over potential additions or changes to the wards, over the extensive additions he’d already made.

He’d already added protective warding to the tunnel from the Hog’s Head, so that the students needing to evacuate could do so more safely. The tunnel itself had been reinforced and subtly expanded as well, so that more could pass through at once. One night, after a few ideas taken from _Warding Hunting Grounds and Preserves,_ he went out to add wards to the Forbidden Forest as well. In the process, he was able to warm the centaurs of what was coming so that they would be ready for the invasion of their domain; they would certainly warn the other denizens of the forest.

Finally, there wasn’t much left to be done except brew the antivenin. She brewed the base of Dayal’s Viper Antidote while he was busy with the workings of the school, trying to keep the Carrows distracted enough not to notice the increasing number of students who’d gone missing, taking their refuge in the Room of Requirement. It was only late at night that he was able to join her in the lab, working through the much more complicated process of brewing the Nagini-specific antivenin. 

She’d thought it would be a good learning opportunity. But they mostly brewed in silence; he worked carefully but efficiently, few words passing between them. Only in the very complicated final stage did they speak much, as they talked through the stirring and timing of the simmering phases. 

In the very early hours of April 30th, they removed the completed potion from the fire to cool for 14 hours before bottling; that task would fall on her later that afternoon. They stared down at the small silver cauldron, holding enough for four doses. He’d been skeptical, but she’d been insistent that there be extra, so that each of them could have a dose, plus more on hand at the Infirmary. It was a vivid electric blue; if brewed properly it would cool to a brilliant sky blue.

They both retired, exhausted, after he disillusioned her and walked up the stairs beside her for the first time in weeks. The routine of it felt surprisingly pleasant. As they reached their respective doors there was an awkward pause as he briefly touched her shoulder, drawing her up short. She blinked up at him, but he only tapped her on the head gently with his wand, ending her disillusionment. He entered his rooms without another word.

The next day, when she apparated down to the lab, there were ten minutes left on the timer she’d left by the cauldron. She didn’t look at the contents, instead occupying herself by gathering four vials and pipette to measure out the doses. Only when the timer chimed did she dare venture a look at the potion.

It was a perfect sky blue. 

It took no time at all to measure each dose into a vial and stopper each of them. She put two doses aside to send to the Infirmary with the rest of the supply, and ticked two into the pockets of her robes so that she and Severus would each have one. 

She quadruple-checked the potion supplies, then took a deep breath before apparating back up to the study. All that remained was to pass the dose of antivenin off to Severus, and to wait. It would be less than 24 hours now, and everything would begin.

Not knowing what else to do with herself, she sat down in one of the chairs and opened _Emma_ again, but she didn’t read more than a page of it. Instead, she sat staring blankly into the fire. 

When the Headmaster arrived, she handed him the vial without a word. He studied the contents for only a second before tucking it into his robes. 

Not a word passed between them as they sat by the fire, both unable to sleep, too burdened by the knowledge of what was coming the next day. He would have to proceed as if he knew nothing of what was coming, which might be even more difficult that her merely waiting in her quarters for the events to unfold. 


End file.
